Black Cat Bone
by SpyVsTailor
Summary: Set about a week after the events in Graveyard Dirt & Salt. Daryl wakes up and things are decidedly different at the convent. Rated M for language, because of the Dixon's and their pretty (but dirty) mouths.
1. Legba

**Well, here it is, the sequel to Graveyard Dirt & Salt (if you haven't read that yet, then it's probably a good idea to read it first, but whatever I'm not going to tell you how to do your thing). It'll be nice to get a fresh start and sort some things out. Heh, got quite a bit of flack for leaving you kids hanging like I did...well it amused me.  
**

**Anyways, I suppose I don't really need to remind anyone that I don't own anything affiliated with any of TWD stuff, I mean, come on, really?**

**Oh, that beautiful cover art? Yeah, it was done by the ever lovely and always talented and super sexy Merle's Right Hand! Link to her art blog on my profile page, it's worth the peek!**

* * *

**Chapter One: Legba**

****Daryl****

The incredibly blinding light was the first thing to pierce the darkness, burning his retinas and instantly creating a throbbing ache behind his eyeballs.

As the burn of the light faded, he found himself staring up at a yellowed ceiling.

Everywhere ached, not just the ache of a good workout, but with the searing, sinew and bone deep ache of one who had slept too long, who had fallen down a rocky cliff and hit every jagged outcropping on his way down.

For a moment he couldn't move, forgot how to it seemed.

Then overhead, with the light casting a halo of white fire around her head, the most beautiful face appeared, big blue eyes shining, mouth splitting in a wide, child-like grin.

"Good to see your blue eyes again," she whispered.

He opened his mouth, but nothing came out of his throat but a dusty croak and air.

"Here, you should have some water," the woman said.

Carol, he reminded himself as she helped him take a deep drink of cool water, her name is Carol.

Watching the wooden rose around her neck as it bobbed and tapped against her collarbone, he became mesmerized by the woman's movements, slow, but steady and graceful as a dancer.

"I'd think I was dead," he muttered, "but I hurt everywhere."

She beamed wider at him and he was almost sure the light was coming from her not the window at her back. "Well, you had a rough couple of days, plus you're fighting an infection, but we got to it in time, Mrs. Douglas and Herschel have high hopes."

He coughed dryly and she offered him more water, which he refused.

"How many days?"

"Six."

"Jesus," he mumbled, "what'd I miss?"

Carol blinked. "Get some rest, we'll talk later."

"I've slept enough," he said. "What'd I miss?"

"You know when you close your eyes just before a fall and only open them when you feel the impact?" Someone inquired from beyond Carol.

Daryl rolled his head to the side and found someone occupying the bed beside him, book open in their lap.

"That's what you missed," the Lieutenant finished.

Blinking for a moment in confusion, Daryl struggled to gather a starting point, but only managed to gape at the man for a moment longer, before the Lieutenant offered him a nod of his head.

"You should rest," Carol said. "I know you slept enough, but just relax at least, I'm going to get you some food. I think some solids in your diet will be okay, just a little bit at least."

Daryl caught her hand before she could disappear on him and held it for a moment, too nervous to do anything more in front of the Lieutenant.

The Cajun, sensing his hesitation, reached beside his bed and pulled a curtain across calmly, eyes going back to his book.

Taking the opportunity, Daryl pulled Carol back onto his bedside.

She smiled softly at him.

He didn't know what to say, wasn't sure he was ever good at whatever it was he was trying to do, but he made the effort at least.

"Sorry if I made you worry," he said simply.

Carol laughed softly, leaning down and pressing a kiss to his cheek, her lips lingered there for a moment and he caught the scent of her.

She smelled so beautiful, like baking and home, he almost wanted to just pull her down and curl up around her, but he refrained because everything still ached and he felt like if he pulled her down his bones would shatter.

"Don't worry about me," she replied, pulling back. "You just worry about recovering, we need you back."

Regretfully he watched her get up and leave, feeling like he missed his chance to do something, whatever it was his brain was struggling to form.

"Hey, Fay," he grunted.

The curtain was drawn back and the Lieutenant leveled his grey eyes on Daryl in the cot beside him.

"Yeah?"

"What'd I miss?"

The Lieutenant sighed. "Not much, been quiet here for a few days."

"Yeah, but…?"

Shifting in his bed carefully, the Cajun set the book on his bedside table.

It was then that Daryl noticed the chain and padlock that had been placed around the man's ankle, chaining him to the bed.

"What the hell?"

Looking down the Lieutenant wriggled his leg, causing the chain to jangle noisily. "I've been confined to bed rest for a few days," he replied easily. "Veterinarian's orders."

Daryl wasn't sure if it was the fact that he was giddy from still being alive or if the Cajun finally told a joke that was hilarious, but he coughed and then laughed.

The two of them laughed for a few seconds, before Daryl's bones protested and the Lieutenant broke off with a grimace, gripping his ribs and they finished abruptly, both moaning.

As they both recovered, the Lieutenant sighed. "Is this what it's going to be like when we're old?"

"What? Chained to beds? I call that a good way to spend a Saturday night," Daryl replied weakly.

Grinning broadly, the Cajun held his ribs. "Don't make me laugh, _cabri_."

Despite the pain, Daryl pulled himself up higher in the bed.

"Easy now," the Lieutenant urged.

Daryl ignored him, propping himself up a little, enough to see a spectre haunting the doorway of the infirmary, her little pooch at her side, her doll in hand.

"Hey, you have a visitor," he pointed out to Fay.

The man eyed Annie at the door quietly. "Ah, she's been there almost non-stop since they moved me in here. Won't come in though."

"She scared?"

"I don't know, can't get her close enough to talk." Saying this, the Lieutenant motioned the girl inside, but she quietly backed out and left the doorway again. "She'll be back, doesn't go far."

Eyeing the soldier, Daryl winced as his spine rippled a wave of pain upwards, heading for his shoulders and stilled. "Is she going to be okay?"

"I hope so, Grace and I tried to brush things off casually, but I think she caught on to the severity of the situation."

"And what's the severity?"

"I almost died." The Lieutenant sorted through the stack of books on his bedside table idly, pulling one out. "Want a book?"

"What do you mean?"

"Well, we're laid up, thought you'd want a book or something to re—"

"You know what I meant, dumb ass," Daryl growled.

The Lieutenant put the book down on top of the others. "There was a point at Woodbury where I could have died."

"What?"

"There was a point where you could have died too."

Daryl narrowed his eyes at the dark, distant tone the Lieutenant took when he said this, but didn't say anything.

"I'm not entirely sure I was even meant to come out kicking from Woodbury, from that room where they had me strapped to a table. Sometimes late at night I think, maybe I did die, maybe we both exist in only a state of energy, hovering here in our cots, waited on by misty memories of our old life."

Sneering at the man, Daryl was about to scoff, when the Lieutenant beamed widely and rattled his ankle chain.

"I'm just yanking your crank, _cabri_!" He exclaimed. "Did almost die though, that close," he held up his good arm, forefinger and thumb an inch apart.

Distracted by Grace who swept into the infirmary with an arm full of books, the Lieutenant beamed and held out his good arm, the other tucked into a sling and chirped, "ah, the most beautiful sight known to man."

"Behave your—"

"An armful of classics, simply magnificent," the Lieutenant went on smoothly, taking the books from the former nun.

Grace pursed her lips. "Keep it up and we'll leave you in that bed a while longer."

Winking at Daryl, the Cajun chuckled. "My times up in two days."

"With good behaviour," Grace shot back, moving to Daryl's bedside, stepping over Clyde who lay in the space between his cot and the Lieutenant's. "Good to see you awake," she said touching a hand to his forehead. "How are you feeling?"

"Like I've been shot then run over by a bulldozer," he shot back.

Smiling as she ran her hand around his face feeling his temperature, Grace eased onto his bedside. "You feel like your temperature is back to normal, how's your heart rate? Is it steady?"

"I suppose, wasn't really paying attention." He replied, flinching from her touch, but putting up with it grudgingly.

Placing a book on the bedside table near him, Grace glanced over at the doorway where Annie was peeking in again. The little girl ducked back out when she was spied like a little mouse.

"I don't know what you like to read, Daryl, honey, I know Lafayette only reads the classics, so I brought you some murder mysteries and a handful of non-fiction historicals," she said.

"I read things other than classics," the Lieutenant argued, cracking open a Zane Grey novel and flipping through it idly.

"Got any more of those westerns?" Daryl asked.

The Lieutenant held up two books in one hand, "_Riders of the Purple Sage_ or _Fighting Caravans_?"

"Don't matter."

"Grace, _cher_, I've got a bit of a problem over here," the Lieutenant said as he pushed one of the westerns across the bedside table in Daryl's direction.

Painfully he reached for the book, feeling a pull in the area just under his left pectoral where he assumed he was patched up.

"What is it, honey?" Grace asked, moving to stand at Fay's side.

"I dropped something just under the bed here, could you get it for me?" The man said, smirking as the woman dipped down to inspect the floor for a dropped item. "No, no, _beb_, the other side."

Eyeing the devilish look in the Cajun's eye, Daryl tried hard to look like he was inspecting the book, but he was genuinely interested in what was about to go down as Grace stooped by the bed, bending down to inspect the floor.

Hooking his arm under her, Lafayette held the woman firmly in her spot, bent over, ass in the air and chuckled. "Undo the chains, _cher_, and no one gets hurt."

Daryl smirked slightly as the woman struggled, before huffing. "The only person who will get hurt, honey, is you. Let me go."

"Hell no, you're my hostage now. Daryl, you'll back me on this, yeah?"

Finding himself pulled into the situation, the youngest Dixon shrugged best he could in his spot. "The man needs leverage."

"I was afraid of this," Grace said with a sigh, "we're going to have to separate you two."

"No grab ass in the infirmary," someone boomed from the doorway.

Daryl peered over Grace and Lafayette on his cot to find Merle moving towards them.

"Heard you weren't dead," his brother stated with a grin. "Had to see it with my own eyes, poke you with a stick just to be sure."

"Funny," Daryl griped, watching as the Lieutenant pulled Grace in closer to press his mouth to hers. She put up a bit of a struggle, before her hand dropped to Fay's chest and she bunched his shirtfront in her clutches, before pulling away with a pretty pink flush painting her white chocolate complexion and hurrying off in mild embarrassment.

It reminded Daryl of what he forgot to do with Carol.

He wasn't good at that relationship shit, but he probably should have done that.

"I'll just gnaw my leg off then, how about?" The Lieutenant shouted after Grace as she scurried out the door to the infirmary.

Turning his eyes back on Merle who had plopped down in a chair by his bedside and was resting his boots up beside Daryl's knee, Daryl scowled. "So, you look pleased with something."

"A little," Merle replied. "Can't I be glad to see my baby brother finally awake?"

Daryl scoffed. "Yeah right."

"I am, Daryl."

As Daryl eyed his brother with a look of mild curiosity (and shock) he heard the sound of the dividing curtain being drawn and peered back to find Fay had given them some privacy. Daryl returned to gazing at his brother with a mildly uncomfortable look.

"You almost died on us, baby bro." Merle said. "And believe it or not you're my only brother."

"Whatever," Daryl replied, bouncing Merle's comment off his shoulders with a shrug.

"Besides, we need you around here, I hate hunting, don't have the goddamned patience."

That was more like it.

Daryl smirked. "Get me out of this bed I'll catch you some damned dinner today."

"No, you're fine where you are for now."

Feeling something had changed about his brother, Daryl angled his head and really studied him.

Merle looked like Merle, but there was something off about him.

"Are you drunk?" He asked.

Chuckling, Merle pushed to his feet. "Naw, just preoccupied." Dropping his hand on Daryl's shoulder, Merle squeezed it. "Well, I should head out, we're going on a run today, pick up some supplies from this little mom and pop shop Glenn scouted in the boonies a ways out that hasn't been touched yet. You're gonna take it easy, right?"

"Yeah, too sore to cause trouble."

Nodding, Merle walked out.

Daryl contemplated taking another nap, all the yapping he was doing was sapping his energy fast.

"You know this curtain is ineffective, I can still hear everything," the Lieutenant muttered from the other side of the pastel yellow curtain.

"What's up with Merle?" Daryl demanded.

"Oh, just Merle being Merle, I suppose."

Grasping the curtain despite the pain it caused him, Daryl tore it back to glower at the Cajun.

"What's going on around here? Every time I ask someone what I missed they change the subject, I ain't stupid," Daryl growled. "Your little girl is terrified, Merle's acting like he gives a rats ass about people and you're chained to a goddamned bed!"

Looking up from the book he was reading, Fay eyed Daryl quietly for a moment.

"They didn't want you getting out of bed before you're fully recovered, _I_ don't want you leaving that bed until you're right again." He said.

"Tell me."

"Rick, Tyreese, Andrea and Alan didn't come back from the mall and Mrs. Douglas, Karen and Milton are having a hell of a time trying to talk peace with Woodbury."

"What?" Daryl demanded struggling to sit upright in the bed. "What do you mean Rick didn't come back from the mall? And who the hell is Mrs. Douglas and Karen?"

"See, this is why we weren't supposed to say anything," the Lieutenant urged. "Now calm down before you pull your stitches loose, _couyon_. I'll fill you in."

"Is that why you're chained up?"

Lafayette grinned crookedly. "Yeah and they'll do you the same if you aren't smart."

Daryl rolled his lips over his teeth in agitation. "Alright, fill me in, then I'm going to knock your teeth down your throat for not telling me sooner."

"Well, that's not a goal I'm heading towards."

"Just spill it, dumb ass," Daryl snarled.

"Alright, calm down, _cabri_."

* * *

**The Voodoo Dialect**

**Black Cat Bone **– Black cat bone refers to the same kind of powerful protective charm that graveyard dirt or salt offer when creating a mojo. Other common items used in a mojo charm bag consist of coins, herbs, rattlesnake rattles, swallows hearts and bat wings.

**Legba (or Papa Legba) **– The old man who guards the crossroads, Legba is considered the origin of life and therefore he must be saluted each day upon awakening. He protects the home and travelers. He is often referred to as Papa Legba due to the respect people have for him as a good deity and he is often depicted as an old man, but his appearance masks his very powerful internal self. His symbol is the sun and the crutch (due to the gnarled, withered appearance his human vessels take while the deity is occupying their body) and all that is good.


	2. Ayezan

**Ms Q - Honestly, I'm having a blast researching Cajun culture and Voodoo loas (deities). I love this kind of stuff and to have a reason to do it is like the cherry on top of the frothy ice cream float. ^_^ Glad to see you're back!**

**peonies01 - Thank you! And nice to see you again too!**

**MollyMayhem84 - I love Rick. Seriously, he's a cutie pie, doesn't get enough credit as being a babe of TWD. Nice to see you too!**

**HGRHfan35 - Seriously, Grace wasn't fooling, they will probably have to be separated. Nothing but sitting there in the infirmary, staring at the four walls, for two active men that'll be hell. Also, nice to see you as well! ^_^**

**DarylDixon'sLover - And it loves you. Hi again!**

**itsi3 - I love the idea of the Lt. chained to a bed too. *pervy grin* If you were worried about Annie before, this chapter might break your heart. You have been warned. Also nice to see you reviewing this story as well!**

**Surplus Imagination - Hehe! Honestly though, I think Grace is learning to swallow some of her 'blasphemy' speak (largely due to Merle going off even worse after she warns him). Although the idea of someone swatting Daryl with a ruler is delightful...probably not in the way you meant though. *pervy grin...again* Hi! Welcome back!**

**amber24-03 - I know, a lot of people were miffed about lack of Daryl, but I learned something about halfway through this story, while it's mainly a Caryl fic (I am nothing if not a hardcore Caryl shipper), it's become a huge ensemble piece. At least you got Daryl in the first chapter, yeah? Good to see a new comer! Thanks a lot for the review!**

**Merle's Right Hand - I seriously think Fay being chained to a bed is a lovely thing, now to get Daryl chained up, a double dose of deliciousness! I'm writing these replies late a night obviously, I'm not usually this pervy.  
**

**Whooptiedoo - When I read that YEEEEAAAAHHHH I totally heard The Who and CSI: Miami popped into mind. (I really wished I was good at puns to put a good one in there a la Horatio...but alas I am not because puns are stupid and should be hated, etc). Welcome back!**

**Brazen Hussy - Haha! What about Rick? He's adorable. But yeah, all of the important ones.**

**ImOrca - Me...confused...just sayin'... :S**

**Jack And Honey - I honestly think Merle would be the type that would have to see it with his own eyes (and maybe actually poke something with a stick) before he believed anything. Maybe I just like the image of Merle squatting down by a dead thing poking it with a stick 'just to be sure'. I don't know what I'm talking about either.**

**Supfan - Oh my, didn't mean to make you very mad. Turrrrribly sorry.**

**BanannaFlvdSnow - Everytime I read your screen name I start craving banana flavoured snowcones. Just sayin'.**

**eieball326 - Yeah, things will be sort of cliffie for a bit, sorry.**

**GG - Whatchu talkin' 'bout? Carol is always bad ass. But yes I see your point, I'm going to try my hardest, but only because I want to see that happen too.  
**

**Alright kids, here's the thing, I wanted to thank the loyal reviewers from GD&S, but I was too lazy to PM you all individually, so I posted a lovely thank you post to my tumblr blog and I'll reblog it now so that you don't have to dig to find your own personalized thanks. Because I wanted to show you all just how much your support meant.**

**Also, also, someone once asked me during GD&S who I'd dream cast as the Lt. and after much consideration I decided on Richard Armitage. Because he's the only man who even came close to how I picture the Lt. in my mind. So there you go whoever asked that question originally. If you don't know who he is, google that shit, you'll thank me for it.  
**

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**Chapter Two: Ayezan**

**Five Days Earlier**

****Little Missy****

The sun was sparkling the dust motes in the air as Annie woke and she noticed that it looked like it was going to be a beautiful day out with a small, but sleep grin.

At her feet Boo the dog slept, keeping her toes warm in the lumpy cot of Mother Mena's and Annie stretched, feeling Boo licking her toes with a giggle. Fumbling for her doll, she grasped it and slipped out of the blankets, placing her bare feet on the cold stone floor.

Behind her Boo hopped down and the two of them set off to find someone. There was always someone nearby.

In the hall, she rubbed the sleep from her eyes and kept a lookout for someone.

Peeking into rooms as she passed by them, she eventually came to Sister Gertrude's room.

The door was half open, which was unusual. Since Sister Gertrude went away the door was always kept closed.

Pushing open the door quietly, she spied a lump in the bed and padded into the room to inspect.

Walking around the foot of the bed, she spied a familiar face and beamed, but her smile immediately died when she noticed how pale he looked, how still he was.

Remembering how still her mama was after she hurt herself, how pale she looked, Annie fell still, eyes scanning over the Lieutenant's form. Noticing a white, blood stained bandage on his neck, she blinked.

When her mama hurt herself she was still, but when she woke up she wasn't the same.

Her child-like mind put two and two together and it terrified her.

The pain from where her mama had gripped her wrist tight surfaced, the memories of the gnashing teeth and the scary way her mama's eyes had sort of blurred came back, slamming into Annie, freezing her up in absolute terror.

All she could do was stare at the red spot in the middle of the bandage on the Lieutenant's pale neck as though mesmerized by the vibrant colour. The colour of pain, the colour that had painted her mama's face, trickling down from the gash to the side of her head, that meant that the Lieutenant was hurt too, that he'd wake up mean and hungry.

Annie barely registered someone scooping her up, until she was being set down again in a different place, the pale Lieutenant out of sight.

Someone was changing her soaking wet underwear, drying her off with something, a low thrumming noise vibrating against her ears, but all she could see was her mama and the Lieutenant and they were both lunging at her.

Then she was redressed and found herself cradled against someone who was rocking her gently.

Annie clung tightly to her doll, it seemed all she could do.

**____********************..-~-..**

* * *

******____********************..-~-..**

She was screaming.

Blinking, Annie stopped screaming long enough to register the fact that she was bundled up in a pile of blankets, sitting on top of Mother Mena's lap as she rocked her gently, her arms around Annie tightly.

Her neck hurt and she didn't know why, but it was achy.

Mother Mena was softly singing that song that she sang, the one the Lieutenant used to tease her for singing, but it was the only one Mother Mena knew – at least that's what she had said.

"Annie?" Mother Mena had stopped singing as soon as she had stopped screaming. "Are you okay, sweetie?"

Burying her face into Mother Mena's neck, Annie sobbed quietly, still scared, but not sure what she was scared of yet.

"Oh, honey, he's okay, he's okay," Mother Mena whispered, stroking Annie's hair. "Come on, he'll probably want to see you."

Finding herself scooped up and carried out of Mother Mena's room, Annie didn't really understand what she was talking about.

At least she didn't until they reached Sister Gertrude's room nearest the outside door, that's when Mother Mena set her down and opened the door for them.

Annie anxiously eyed the room.

The Lieutenant was sitting up in the bed, propped up by a stack of fluffy white pillows.

He smiled at her, but she took a step back, hiding behind Mother Mena.

She wasn't going to get close enough for him to grab her like her mama did. She didn't want him to hurt her like that.

"It's okay, honey," Mother Mena urged.

"Hey, boo," the Lieutenant said from the bed.

Annie stuck her finger in her mouth and chewed on her nail, shaking her head and backing even further away.

"Annie?" Mother Mena asked in shock.

But she was already running out the door, running for safety from the Lieutenant who had woken from his wound, he'd be mean, he'd try to hurt her like her mama. She ran and ran, heading for her safe spot behind the church in the abandoned flower garden, where the statue of St. Francis would keep her safe.

Colliding against someone's leg as she tore around the church, she clung to it tightly, hoping they'd protect her.

"Don't let him get me," she pleaded. "Don't let him hurt me!"

"Annie!" Mother Mena exclaimed, pulling to a stop just beside the corner of the church. "It's okay, honey. He's okay. No one's going to hurt you."

Annie fell silent, Mother Mena wouldn't understand. She didn't see how mean her mama was. Peering up she found that new man with the glasses looking down at her and hugged his leg tighter.

"Don't let her take me back there, Mr. Mamet," she pleaded softly. "Please?"

"What's going on?" He asked Mother Mena.

"I don't know, I found her in Lafayette's room, she'd wet herself, she was screaming and crying and, I'd never seen her like that."

"What scared you, little girl?" The man asked in a nervous voice.

Annie liked the sound of his voice though, it was soft and sounded like a daddy's voice.

"He's going to be mean, he's going to be mean like mama was mean and he's going to hurt me, because when you get hurt you go to sleep and then wake up mean, and he's going to be mean and hurt me, don't let him hurt me, okay? Just don't, okay?"

"Annie," Mother Mena began.

"No!" She screamed. They didn't understand. "No! Leave me alone! Don't let him hurt me, okay?" She pleaded to her newfound saviour. "Just don't, okay?"

"O-okay," he promised. "No one will hurt you."

"Annie, honey—"

"No!" She shrieked. "You go away, okay? Just go away!"

Mother Mena looked suddenly tired, but she nodded. "Okay, honey. Mr. Milton, do you mind?"

"I, uh, actually—"

"Please? I'm just upsetting her further."

"I…guess so. Just find someone else to take her though, I don't understand children, their behaviour is often irrational."

"Thank you. I'll find someone to take her from you."

Annie watched as Mother Mena disappeared, still holding tightly to Mr. Mamet's leg. "Don't let him get me," she whispered, repeating it softly, until he began to move away. She tightened her grip on his leg.

"I can't feel anything beneath my knee, little girl," he said.

"Annie," she replied softly.

"Annie, is that Anna or Anne?"

"Anne, but I hate that, don't call me that."

"Alright. So, can I get my leg back, Annie?"

"Don't leave me," she said.

"I'm not going anywhere."

Carefully releasing Mr. Mamet's leg, she blinked up at him. He had a nice face, it looked like he'd be a good hugger.

She offered him a shy smile. "Thank you for saving me."

He knelt to face her, adjusting his glasses. "Why do you think Lieutenant Vancoughnett is going to hurt you?"

"My mama got hurt like him and then she went to sleep and came back from her nap angry," Annie held up her arm. "She hurt my arm, there," she pointed to her wrist. "And then she tried to bite me, but she wasn't my mom, she was scary and had an angry face."

The man blinked, his kind face taking on a sad look. "I think I understand. I'm sorry that happened. How long do you think she was napping for?"

"I don't know." Annie reached out and shyly touched the side of his glasses. "Can I see your glasses?"

He angled his head. "I suppose, just don't drop them."

Annie took them from him after he removed the glasses and tried them on.

"You know, Lieutenant Vancoughnett is healthy, though, don't you?" Mr. Mamet asked.

"No, he's going to get mean, you'll see." She replied, trying to walk with his glasses on, smiling because the ground was all hilly and when she tried to take a step up the hill she staggered. Stopping, she removed his glasses and eyed him. "Don't let them take me, okay?" She repeated, handing his glasses back.

"I'll do my best."

Suddenly aware of what was happening, Annie began to cry.

Mr. Mamet stood up. "Ah, don't…"

She'd have to leave the Lieutenant like she had to leave her mama. She had tried to find her way back home, but she couldn't and then when she did it was nighttime and her mama had left her and then the other mean people came out and chased her and the Lieutenant would do that too.

Smearing her tears into the snot that was running from her nose, Annie wailed loudly and collapsed on the ground.

"Oh, um…don't cry, it's okay. No one will take you away." Mr. Mamet offered.

Annie held her arms out to him, she wanted to feel safe.

"I don't think that's entirely appropriate," he stated.

She wailed louder and harder.

"Oh-kay, alright, a hug is appropriate I suppose, proficient enough for comfort," Mr. Mamet knelt down and leaned in to hug her.

Throwing her arms around his neck, she held on tightly. "Don't get mean too." She sobbed into his neck. "Don't leave me behind."

"I won't. Just stop crying, please?"

"Annie, sweetheart, what's wrong?"

Sniffling and rubbing her eyes to clear her tears, she looked up to find Carol standing behind them, Mr. Daryl's dog at her side.

Leaving Mr. Mamet for what she knew to be comforting arms, Annie raced towards Carol, leaping at her. She peeked back to find Mr. Mamet walking off rather quickly and sniffed.

She decided she liked him, even though his hugs weren't as good as she thought they'd be.

**____********************..-~-..**

* * *

******____********************..-~-..**

"You just left him?" Mr. Merle demanded.

It was later that morning and Annie was sitting close to Carol, tucked in against her side, watching with wide eyes as Mr. Merle and Glenn yelled at each other.

No one would tell her what was going on, but she didn't like it. Everyone was shouting and angry.

"Beth was in rough shape, I made the decision to bring her back first! We looked, okay? We looked and we honked our horn, if he was still alive he would have heard us!" Glenn argued.

"Hell I didn't like the man, but shit, turning tail like that—"

"I had no choice!" Glenn snarled.

"What about the others?"

"Walkers," Miss Sasha provided, "maybe, hell I don't know, couldn't find them either."

"Yeah well, _our_ mission was successful," Mr. Merle pointed out. "Came back one Cajun heavier."

"Yeah, and three more mouths we can barely feed," Glenn replied sharply.

"What are you saying little man?" Mr. Merle demanded, pushing in close to the Asian man, getting in his personal space.

"I'm saying you did too good in your mission, notice a few more of your Woodbury pals are with us here, while we wipe their noses and feed them our food rations."

Pressing in closer to Carol, Annie noticed she was quieter than normal, sitting on the stoop of the infirmary so that she could keep one eye on the group arguing and the other on Mr. Daryl.

Spying the Lieutenant stepping out of the dorms on shaky legs, left arm holding his ribs tightly, Annie gasped and pressed her face against Carol's ribs, wrapping her arms tightly around her. She knew he would get up eventually and he looked pretty angry.

"What is everybody shouting about? I'm trying to regenerate blood in here," he barked, his voice trembling.

Peeking, Annie kept her eyes on the Lieutenant just in case Carol didn't see when he got mad.

"Get back in here," Mother Mena scolded coming up behind him, "we don't need you dropping on us!"

The Lieutenant ignored Mother Mena, glaring at Mr. Merle and Glenn as they continued to shout at one another, resting against the door frame of the dorms. "What's going on?"

"I'll tell you if you get back inside," Mother Mena stated.

"Tell me now," he commanded in a tone Annie had never heard from him.

Whimpering, Annie pressed her face back into Carol's ribs.

Carol finally scooped her off the cement stoop and pulled Annie into her lap, holding her tightly. Annie found she had no place to hide her eyes, so she watched once more, keeping her attention entirely on the Lieutenant.

"Merle thinks Rick may still be alive, he thinks Glenn left him at the mall," Mother Mena supplied.

"The boy pussied out, tucked tail and ran," Mr. Merle stated.

"Fuck you, Merle!" Glenn shouted. "I was looking out for our people the best I could!"

"You two are going to give me an aneurysm in my brain." The Lieutenant pointed out, rubbing the area between his eyes with the hand that was holding his ribs, before it returned to keeping them tightly in place.

"Please go and lie down," Mother Mena pleaded with him, touching his right arm. He had it tucked up into a piece of cloth for some reason.

The Lieutenant ignored her, taking a weak step out from the dorms. "Okay, we're going to go back, if Rick's still alive and has no transport, if he can he'll be heading this way, we'll come across him or we won't, simple."

"He's dead," Glenn whispered. "Okay? We looked, I circled that mall three maybe four times making as much noise as I could, but Beth was bad and we had no real choice but to leave."

Miss Sasha, who looked like she had an accident, her face was scratched and bruised, looked up from where she was sitting on the front steps of the nearby church.

"We looked." She offered softly.

The Lieutenant eyed them, before he sort of slumped back a little, Mother Mena catching him.

"Lafayette, please?"

"Merle, Glenn you two know what to do, yeah?" The Lieutenant said. "Semper fi, no man gets left behind. Glenn you did the right thing, Beth is in bad shape, but she'll be fine because you got her here in time. But you have to be sure. I'm going to throw up right here and forgive me if…okay—"

Annie cringed as the man did just that, before Mother Mena helped him back into the dorms.

"We'll go back," Mr. Merle said.

Glenn nodded.

"I'll go with you," Miss Sasha offered.

"You're in bad shape—"

"That's my brother still out there too, alive or dead, he's mine and I'll either save him or put that bullet in him myself," she stated firmly.

"Whatever, your choice."

Annie didn't know what was happening, but she knew one thing, she would keep her eyes on the Lieutenant as much as she could. She didn't want him getting angry and hurting someone else.

* * *

**The Voodoo Dialect**

**Ayezan** – Ayezan (also spelled Aizan or Ayizan) is the wife of Legba. She protects markets, public places, doors and barriers and because she has many children and cares for them greatly some consider her a protector of children and will often call upon her to protect a child in need. She often punishes people who make mistakes, not because she is a severe or cruel deity, but because she desires for them to learn from their mistakes for future reference, although she has often been known to swiftly and vengefully punish adults for abusing children, the rich for abusing the poor, the strong for abusing the weak and the husband for abusing the wife.


	3. Baron Samedi

**DandelionFunky - Nice to see you reviewing! Thanks! And yes, I hope the Lt. stays alive too (you never know, right?)**

**Jack And Honey - Dreamt of her? Well now you have to go into details about that.**

**songbird1313 - Well, thank you! I hope to update as often as possible.**

**BanannaFlvdSnow - Lemon snow cones wouldn't be as delicious as banana imho. ^_^**

**HGRHfan35 - It actually pains me to write Annie's story, I just feel like the poor little thing doesn't deserve any of that, but *sigh* TWD, huh? Life is shitty.**

**Brazen Hussy - Wow, I think I found the Rick hater. ^_^!**

**MollyMayhem84 - Hey, you picture him how you want. JDM is also a good looking fellow.**

**Merle's Right Hand - I too share that fear. Babies be wailing and I'm all 'nope' right out of the room.**

**peonies01 - You're very welcome, I'm just trying to show as much love as you have all given me!**

**Surplus Imagination - Me? I love Glenn! He made a good judgement call in my opinion and he was just hitting below the belt with Merle because he still hates/distrusts the man.**

**DarylDixon'sLover - Maybe...**

**Lilone1776 - Children are tragically honest at times, though, huh? And yes, I enjoy writing chapters from her POV, because she sees the good in a lot of the people (Merle being one).**

**SilverWolf84 -It may take a while, but I hope they get over it too.**

**Gone Random - Well, welcome to the current party. Thanks for all the lovely reviews you left in GD&S! ^_^ I'm glad you're able to read between the lines with the characters and the development I've taken with them. Honestly appreciate that.**

**amber24-03 - I would like to try to delve into the Lt.'s backstory a bit more too, hopefully soonish, but not too much, these OC's are getting cocky.**

**itsi3 - I'm glad you agree on the Richard Armitage thing. It took me for freakin' ever to find an actor I liked (looks wise). The thing about the Lt. that people tend to forget in this story is that the dude is a Marine and used to be a drill sergeant, so he can be pretty commanding when he wants, he just doesn't want to be usually.**

**Ms Q - I really want Milton to try to help her maybe, use his big old brain to read up on childhood psychology and PTSD. At least give her some counseling. I think while he doesn't like kids, he might at least want to help her.**

**GG - You raise a good point, kiddo. I thought about that (I pay attention to detail...sometimes ^_^). Daryl and Andrea were both conscious when they were brought in, Daryl speaking to Annie from beyond the wall, therefore she doesn't compare them to finding the Lt. already pale and still, as she had found her mother, she comes across him thinking him dead, whereas the others were still very much alive in her mind. That was the trigger for her episode, the stillness, plus the wound was what drove her to believing the Lt. would turn. I was hoping to get this in the story at some point, but you're so observant that I felt I should at least clear that confusion up for you.**

* * *

**Chapter Three: Baron Samedi**

****Daryl****

He eyed the little sprite haunting the doorway of the infirmary as Fay took a sip of water from the glass on his bedside table.

"Aren't you worried about her?" He asked, motioning with his chin to the little girl who was just disappearing back out of sight behind the doorframe.

"Of course, but every time I try to talk to the _pischouette_ she backs off like I'm going to hit her and I can't properly deal with it with my leg in irons. Truth is I'm very worried about her, I just don't know how to help her."

Feeling something cold and wet nudging at his hand, Daryl grudgingly stroked the muzzle of the grey dog who had sat up from where he lay to beg for attention. Daryl wasn't sure what to say or even what to do about the little girl. He wasn't so good at emotionally offering help to a person, hell he wasn't even sure he should give advice to anyone considering some of the choices he made with his life.

"Don't even know what the problem is, really. Grace won't say anything about it, but I know it's bad. Woke up in my bed in the dorms, to her screaming. I don't know, probably scared her. _Mal pris_, yeah?"

"What's that?"

"Stuck in a bad situation, _Texian_. Talk to her she screams, ignore the problem and she falls deeper into the rabbit hole."

Daryl eyed him quietly, in the stuffy heat of the infirmary the men were laying bare chested, sweating bullets with only a slight, merciful breeze coming in from the boarded up window now and then.

"So what about Rick? Did Merle and them find him when they went back? What happened to the Governor?"

The Lieutenant opened his mouth to reply, but was cut off by Carol wandering in with a tray of food.

"All we have is some pasta with canned mushroom soup sauce and crackers," she said apologetically. "But I'm assured Sister Mary Agnes is a professional when it comes to makeshift meals, so don't panic about how it sounds, it's actually pretty good according to several sources."

"I don't care if it's got fur balls in it, I'll eat anything at this point," the Lieutenant said, taking a bowl and a small handful of crackers from her. "Thank you, _ange_."

Carol smiled at him and handed off a bowl and a few crackers to Daryl.

He set them aside on the little wheel up hospital tray and caught her hand before she could turn around and go.

Casting a sideways glance at the Lieutenant, he waited until the calmly eating Cajun could grab hold of the curtain, whipping it across the divide between them with his good arm.

Smiling, Carol eased down onto the bedside near his ribs, facing him with her legs tucked into the narrow space between his bed and the bedside table neatly, avoiding the tray and the equipment.

Setting her hand on the bed by his hip opposite, she leaned over him.

"How are you feeling?" She asked him.

"Like I've been sleeping for months," he replied, hand still wrapped around her wrist, running up her arm cautiously, ready to remove it should she give any indication that it wasn't supposed to be there.

"You look a lot better though, I'm glad," she replied. "You had a rough couple of days."

Daryl hated that he missed so much, he liked to know what was going on, liked to know his surroundings and the mood of the scenery.

Hell, he felt so confused and behind and he knew he'd never properly catch up.

And it pissed him off that he hadn't been there to help, that he was lying about when people were fighting and possibly dying.

Carol's touch was so comforting when she removed her hand from the bed beside his hip and slipped it up and over his chest, heading for his face, where she slid her fingers into his hair and played it with idly.

He liked that she didn't need to constantly be talking, that her eyes said a lot more than her mouth ever could.

Though sometimes he didn't understand the language her looks were using, but he was sure it was because he wasn't used to hearing what they had to say.

This was one of those moments, her eyes were indecipherable. It gave him a sense of vertigo in a way, like he was teetering on the edge of something, unable to control his plummet into the dark void.

Picking at a callous on his hand, he sullenly wished he knew what to say or do with her.

The Lieutenant was so easy with women, with people in general and Daryl had no idea how he did it.

For a moment Daryl wondered if there was a way to learn his secret, how to communicate with people on a normal level.

He knew he wasn't normal, there was no point in denying the fact that he was raised ass backwards, that he had all the traits of a wild animal and he envied the way the Lieutenant blended so well into the human fabric, how he spoke and acted like a man should.

It was thoughts like these that made Daryl sure he didn't deserve Carol's affection. She needed someone who could charm her, she needed someone like the Lieutenant who could gracefully pull her down for a kiss, instead of some dumb ass like him who didn't know the first thing about charm.

Fuck it, he thought, things were out there hunting them down, he didn't have time to be wishing he was normal like he did as a teenager. He was good at one thing and there was no point in learning how to be a human being when he could be learning more useful things.

Locking away those longings back into the box he had built for them as a teenager, Daryl winced as he tried to sit up, adjusting his position and huffed.

God he hated being bedridden, made him feel like a fucking hot dog just lying around, useless.

Carol helped him adjust his position gently, fluffing his pillows to give him a bit more height.

As she bent over him to adjust his pillows, he eyed the wooden rose that dangled from her neck and realized that he had his priorities right, but that didn't mean he couldn't observe the Lieutenant for a few tips on how to act like a human being.

"Better?" Carol asked him, straightening up.

He nodded.

She leaned down to kiss his cheek, but he took the opportunity to shift his head so that their mouths met.

They fell gently, smoothly into a deep kiss and he finally found something to do with his hand, winding it around her waist, feeling the dip between her ribs and hip to be one of his favourite places on her.

It didn't matter the time of day, what she had just eaten, where she had just been, the clothes she was wearing or the amount of work she had done, Carol always tasted and smelled like something unique, something sweet that was unlike anything he had ever tasted, but yet there was an undertone of something akin to a soft salt in the sweetness of her kiss, in the scent of her skin.

His hand left her hip, travelling upwards to cradle her cheek, holding her face with both hands, cupping her against him for a while longer, before she pulled away with a small, pleased grin.

Daryl offered her a small smile.

Leaning down one final time, she kissed his forehead and pushed to her feet. "I'd better get back. I'm on the wall in a little bit. Beth is on watch over you two later, in case you need someone."

Breezing back through the infirmary the way she came, he heard Carol check in with the Lieutenant before she left, then she was gone.

Slumping back against the pillows, mindful of his exit wound, Daryl huffed.

"These are really nice curtains," the Lieutenant said from the other side of the cloth barrier. "What do you think they are? A polyester-cotton blend?"

Reaching over, Daryl yanked the soft white curtain back, finding the Lieutenant beaming at him from the other side, he sneered.

"You're a dumb ass."

"So you tell me daily," the man replied. "And if it were any other man saying it, I'd be inclined to believe them."

"What's that mean?"

"Because in Dixon-speak 'dumb ass' and 'dummy' are just endearments, deep down you love me."

"Don't be a pussy," Daryl growled.

"Deny it all you want, you can't hide your feelings from me, _cabri_."

"I'm going to get out of this bed and punch you in the face," he stated.

"That's like a Dixon hug, yeah?"

"I mean it, don't make that—"Daryl broke off with a snort, looking away from the Lieutenant as the Cajun pursed his lips at him. "I hate you."

They both fell silent after a moment, and Daryl sighed. The information of the day suddenly came down on him and he was very much aware of just what he missed.

Rick.

Daryl began picking at his hand idly again.

"Did I ever tell you about Mean Old Ernie?" The Lieutenant asked.

Daryl shook his head. "No."

"There was this _matou_, ah tomcat, haunted the bayou behind my _Mamere's_ home, we kids used to call him Mean Old Ernie. And this cat was so mean he used to put the run on our neighbour - Mrs. Bloom's - big monster of a hound, scared the hell out of us, this nasty, beaten up old cat with the missing eye and the tattered ears. Oh, he was certainly a big, black monster of a cat, all yowls and angry growls.

Nobody knew where he came from or where he spent his nights, but what we did know what that he could heard at night spitting his hate at the stars overhead. Almost like he was performing some kind of black magic rituals to the goddess of the night, worshipping the moon and stars with his kitty yowls.

Truthfully he was probably horny and looking for a lay.

You know tomcats have barbs on their genitals? Hell of a thing."

Daryl winced. "Why?"

"Well, I'm not a cat, I can't say. Feel sorry for them lady cats though. Sure know why they make such a fuss when they sex each other now though, I'll tell you that much."

Daryl smirked.

"Anyways, this Mean Old Ernie he used to come around my _Mamere_ would feed him scraps of meat from our dinner table when my _Papere_ wasn't looking, because he hated that cat. Had no compassion in his heart for the feline species. Which I couldn't understand, Mean Old Ernie used to keep the raccoons away from our garbage, so you'd think he'd be a little grateful.

So, this _matou_ would come around and eat his dinner in the heart of the darkness of the night and by morning there'd be nothing but an empty plate and pieces of scarfed food scattered about.

One day I woke up, hopped outside heading to catch the bus at the end of our road, when I noticed his scraps still there. I didn't think too much of it, Mean Old Ernie had often gone courting over to the next county or so I believed, he'd always come back a week later, looking pleased with himself like he'd just visited the lady cat brothel—"

"Queens," Daryl interjected.

"What?"

"Lady cats are called 'queens'."

"Oh, so you know that but you didn't know about the barb on the dick?" The Lieutenant shot back.

Picking up a soft cover book, Daryl threw it at the Cajun. "That's because I'm not a pervert like you!"

Ducking the book, the Lieutenant laughed. "Alright! Calm down, _cabri_!"

"Anyways," the man went on after a pause to collect his thoughts, "Mean Old Ernie's food went uneaten for a week, then another passed and my _Mamere_ decided she wanted to stop putting the food out as the raccoons were returning and it was only attracting them. I don't know why, but I didn't give up hope, the cat was mean but once he was gone I kind of missed him. You know? Running all the way from the bus into the house because of a rabid cat on your ass is sure fire motivation for exercise.

A month went by, no _matou_, two months, three and then one day I was out in the woods hunting down cranberries with Pete Cortland, when I came across Mean Old Ernie—"

Daryl winced. He didn't like the direction the story was taking.

"The little bastard chased us up into an old willow tree and Pete damned near broke his neck taking the plunge to safety."

"Cat was alive?"

"Sure was and just as mean as ever."

Daryl smirked.

"See, he must have found himself a home elsewhere, because he had this clean, healthy look to him, but he came back to us, back to my _Mamere's_ scraps and living under the stars."

"Why?"

"I dunno, I don't understand cats."

"So what happened to him?"

"Oh, Mean Old Ernie lived for a good four years after that, eating my _Mamere's_ scraps, chasing me from my bus, beating on dogs and raccoons and humping anything furry with lady parts.

Then one day I found him curled up under our porch, just lying there. Buried him in the side yard under my _Mamere's_ mayhaw tree. That mojo bag I gave you has his bone in it, because I wanted to take a part of his spirit with me for strength and luck. Funny, but thinking about it now, I kind of loved that cat. He was so mean, but all he needed was someone with patience to show him that the world wasn't cruel, that love and comfort and hope and joy isn't found in a place or a thing, but it's often found in another person. Doesn't matter where you are, as long as the company you keep is good."

Daryl bowed his head to his hands, fidgeting with them quietly. "I don't think Rick is dead," he finally said. "He can't be."

"I don't think he is either," the Lieutenant agreed. "Man that tough doesn't die easily."

Daryl nodded.

"We'll find him, _cabri_. He's probably just lost in the damned woods or something. Give you something to track when you get better, yeah?"

"Yeah. Trail might be cold though."

"We'll find him."

Feeling the Lieutenant's gaze on him, Daryl shifted uncomfortably in the silence.

"I'm glad you're okay, Daryl." The Cajun said after a long, studious moment.

Daryl nodded.

The Lieutenant was distracted by a little sprite poking her head into the infirmary through the open door, lingering in the middle of it, eyeing the men quietly. He motioned her inside, but she backed out again quietly.

Daryl could only see a third of the Cajun's face, but he could clearly see the worry that darkened it.

"Hey," he said softly to distract the man from his concern, "don't ever run towards the men with the guns again."

The Lieutenant turned to face him, eyes sombre. "It's my job," he said.

"Yeah, well, you need to be careful, now more than ever," Daryl growled.

"Because you love me? And you can't live without me?" The Lieutenant teased.

"I'm not kidding, I'm gonna knock you on your ass," Daryl snarled.

"Try it, porcupine."

Unable to comprehend the fact that the Cajun just called him a 'porcupine' Daryl snorted, before chuckling.

Beside him the Lieutenant began to laugh as well, until they were both chuckling.

He supposed he needed a good laugh after the shit that went down, because he laughed for a good two or three minutes until tears came to his eyes.

"Fuck," he managed to squeeze out between bouts of laughter.

As the laughter died away, they were left feeling a little less like shit, Daryl certainly felt more invigorated, ready to try moving a little again.

He shifted into a better sitting position in his cot.

"Easy, _cabri_," the Lieutenant warned him from the bed at his side. "Don't push it."

"I'm fine," he snapped. "I hate sitting around."

"Yeah, not for me either." The Cajun said, rattling his ankle chain as if to prove why he had it on in the first place.

"Alright, so tell me then, Merle went back to the mall, what happened?"

"Well, all I know is what I heard through the convent grapevine."

* * *

**The Voodoo Dialect**

**Baron Samedi** (My personal favourite!) – Baron Samedi (Guede or Papa Guede), the spirit of death is the loa (Voodoo deity) of the crossroads, death, sexuality and cemeteries. His symbol is the cross upon the tomb. He is a greatly renowned lover of women and often utters obscenities, loves rowdy songs, sarcasm and dirty jokes. When someone is inhabited by Baron Samedi, they wear a long black undertakers coat, dark glasses with the right lens popped out and stiff black top hat with cotton stuffed into the ears and nose to represent a dead body read for burial. Despite being a loa associated with death, Baron Samedi is much beloved because wherever he goes laughter and joy, singing and dancing follow. And he's always fashionably late to a party. Considered the clown of the Voodoo world, Baron Samedi loves cigarettes and is often seen smoking two at a time, he is neither good nor evil, but merely amused by humans, which is why he jokes around so much. When Baron Samedi chooses his humanly host, he often prefers to inhabit someone who pretends to be aloof from sex and lust, only to mock and embarrass them. Because of his connection to the dead, he seemingly knows all by what has been and what will be written in their spirits. Baron Samedi generally doesn't like to see a child die, therefore he is usually the one loa someone will go to when a child is sick or gravely injured because only he can change whether they live or die.


	4. Linto

**Too many beautiful reviews from too many lovely people to get back to.**

**I love you all, but most importantly I love cake and cake came first.**

* * *

**Chapter Four: Linto**

****Milton****

**Five Days Earlier**

After the attack on his person by the little girl, he had milled about the shack, sorting through his things and pondering the situation.

It had gone badly, but he wasn't expecting anything less.

Oddly enough, the one thing that was weighing on him was reconstruction, mending the damages done, getting into Woodbury to repair the damages done between their people.

War was a funny thing, people often held grudges long after it was over and no one ever gave any thought to the reconstruction period.

Scoffing, he realized the irony of another reconstruction period happening in modern day Georgia.

Wandering across the lawns, he approached Merle and the others as they prepared to leave for the mall to retrieve Rick and the others from their group.

"Merle?" He asked.

The burly Dixon turned on him. "What?"

"I'm going with you."

"Yeah, right, and I enjoy wiping my ass with my right hand," Merle scoffed, turning back to loading the weapons into the back of the blue pickup.

"No, I'm serious. You're passing through a small town with a local library and I'd like to stop to gather some supplies."

Once more Merle turned to eye Milton, sneering at him. "I ain't got time to babysit your ass on—"

"I'm going too," Carl spoke up from the other side of the truck.

"Hell no," Merle stated.

"I don't trust you to find my dad," Carl replied.

"You're not going, end of discussion. Neither of you," he growled turning on Milton again.

"I'm a grown man, Merle. I go where I want, either you take me or I leave on my own."

Merle snorted. "Yeah, good luck then."

"I'm going with you, Merle or you're not going at all." Carl stated, placing his hand on his pistol, striking a gunslinger pose like the young man was straight out of a spaghetti western.

"Kid, I will knock you on your ass and make you cry, now get the fuck out of my face. Go play with some toys somewhere, stop trying to take charge."

"Fuck you, Merle."

"Fuck you back, you little asshole," Merle muttered.

Carl went to open the door to the truck and climb inside, when Merle grabbed him by the upper arm and yanked him out, throwing him onto his ass on the ground.

The young man pulled his 9mm on the older Dixon brother and Milton took a nervous step back from the action.

Merle stared the young man down calmly.

"Well, pull the trigger then," Merle barked. "Grow some balls and pull that trigger, but you'd better not miss, because I'll knock your teeth down your throat if you do."

"You shoot Merle on my convent grounds, Carl, it won't prove anything," Grace stepped in physically between Carl and Merle. "You two had better learn to cohabitate before you both do something stupid."

Carol moved in to help. "Carl, Merle knows what he's doing. We need you here," she said softly.

"You don't know jack shit," Carl growled. "Merle's just some dumb assed redneck who doesn't care about my dad! I wouldn't trust him to take care of the fleas on his ass!"

"Hey! Don't you talk to her like that!" Merle growled.

Flipping Merle off, Carl stormed away, shaking his head.

Milton watched the young man march off quietly.

"That little shit needs his ass whipped until it turns inside out," Merle growled.

"He's hurting, Merle," Carol pointed out.

"I don't care, my brother's laid up in the infirmary, do you see me acting like a little pecker?"

"Though to be fair, Merle," Milton pointed out, shielding his eyes to watch Carl as the young man turned the corner around the church and disappeared, "would one be able to tell if you were acting out since you're always in a state of irrational rage?"

"I'll knock your fat head off your shoulders, if you talk to me like that again," Merle stated.

"Case in point," Milton replied, hopping into the truck cab beside Sasha.

He spied Merle pulling a face at him, but pointedly ignored the man, closing the door stubbornly.

**____********************..-~-..**

* * *

******____********************..-~-..**

****Tyreese****

**Five Days Earlier**

They stepped into an old wooden, dilapidated garage where someone was hunched over a half-finished coffin wearing a pair of faded blue coveralls.

"Tyreese, this is Jack Bloom, Jack I want you to meet Tyreese Williams," Delgado introduced.

Setting down a plane, the man turned from his work and shoved a pair of safety goggles up to rest on top of his head. He was a very average looking man, not tall or short or fat or thin. The only thing Tyreese took note of about the man was the scar that ran from his upper lip to his nose. "Are we taking in more strays, boss?" The man asked calmly, holding a hand out to Tyreese.

Tyreese took it carefully, shaking once before releasing.

"Jack, I want you to keep an eye on him, he's just a guest until I have a chance to meet with his leader." Delgado ordered. "Can you do this?"

"Sure, I have more time on my hands then necessary since we repaired the barn and doubled up the fences."

"What's with the coffin?" Tyreese asked, a little nervous about it.

"Bloom builds coffins, it's what he does," Delgado pointed out. "Among other things."

"Actually," the man said, "I _used_ to embalm the dead, but I've recently been made redundant. Got to find something to do and we are none of us going to live forever. May as well spend eternity in comfort and class, right?"

"Yeah, that's top of my list," Tyreese replied.

The man chuckled.

Delgado hovered for a bit, before nodding. "Alright, you need anything Tyreese just make sure Jack knows where you got off to, okay?"

Deciding to just go along with whatever the man said for the time being, Tyreese nodded. "Yeah, sure."

"Good, I really don't want to have to cause any undo strife among another group, honestly, it's good that you're trusting us enough to just go along with me."

"Whatever, man. I'm outnumbered here, can't be stupid enough to want to cause shit."

Nodding one last time Delgado wandered off.

"You ever woodwork before?" Jack asked.

"I used to work construction some," Tyreese replied.

"Ah, but it's not the fine art of hand lathing, is it?"

"Probably not."

"Then you're in luck, we don't have any of that left to do, just screwing on the handles."

Picking up the fancy brass handles, Tyreese scowled. "Where'd you get these, man?"

"Hardware store, you'd be amazed at the amount of crap people don't need when they're grabbing generators and sleeping bags, the store had a whole pile of these left." Jack picked one up and studied it. "They're drawer pulls, but they do the job. So tell me, Tyreese, what's your group called?"

"What?"

"Just screw them on where I marked," Jack said, handing off a screwdriver to him. "Your group, it has a tribal name, right?"

"Not that I know of."

"Really? Hm, interesting."

Gauging the man working at his side, Tyreese quietly observed him, trying to read him as a threat or not.

"You know it's funny," Jack said. "One day you're draining Mrs. Simpkins of her bodily fluids and shoving a plug into her ass, the next her daughter is trying to chew on your face."

"Maybe it was the plug thing she took issue with," Tyreese replied.

Jack laughed.

"So what are you people? Militant? Your leader says he's USMC," Tyreese urged.

"Not all of us, the Hollander's own this place, their son-in-law Sid runs it, was a breeding ranch for fancy assed horses of some kind, liposuction's or some such breed. Sid's a real piece of work, but he has his reasons."

"Wife?"

"Yeah, two days before I arrived. The Brooks were passing through on the highway, ran off into the woods, found this place, Dolly and Eve came at the same time as Tucker and Pace, the two cowboys were heading through Tennessee for a rodeo in West Virginia, got chased down south by a big group of those things and found Eve with her kids and Dolly along the way, came across us eventually."

"And that man in the tree?"

"Kowalski? Came with the boss around the same time I did, he crawled into that tree on the first day and I've never seen him come down since."

"Ever? I don't believe that."

"Well, he comes down to piss, I hope, but if he does it's at night when it's dark and we're all at our own posts. Usually Eve just hands plates of food up to him. All I've ever seen is an arm and a hand."

"You're shitting me," Tyreese stated.

"Yeah, a little bit," the man replied. "Saw a foot once, but just the tail end of it climbing back into the tree in the early morning."

Still casting sideways glances at the man, Tyreese shifted on his feet. "Hey, that Delgado, he ain't…I mean your people aren't—"

"We're not rapists or murderers," the man replied calmly, eyeing Tyreese with an open, honest look. "I can see where you'd think that, though. You came through the forest of the damned and I know what's out there for survivors. Woodbury's bad, but they at least have some semblance of civilization left in them. There are worse people left alive in the wilderness…"

"What?"

"I'm assuming," Jack replied with a grin, "probably nomads out there; roving gangs, dirty survivalists, hunters and killers and gamblers and sinners and everything over, under and in-between. Pass me the wood glue, please."

Eyeing the man for a moment, before reaching for the glue, Tyreese scowled at his work. "Your people ever meet other groups?"

"No, we're very secluded here. The trees give us a lot of cover."

**____********************..-~-..**

* * *

******____********************..-~-..**

****Old Missy****

**Five Days Earlier**

"What are you doing?"

She was checking in on things around the convent, when she came across the Lieutenant sitting on the edge of her cot, struggling to tie his boots, unable to reach them due to his broken ribs.

"Dividing cells even as we speak," he replied.

"You can do that lying down," she remarked, moving to pull his boots off his feet.

"I'm fine," he stated. "Little banged up, but fine, I can at least walk a wall."

"Honey" she cooed, easing onto the cot beside him, "you've been shot and stabbed, you have two broken ribs and a concussion, I think you'd do more damage than good on that wall."

"I also jammed my pinkie on something, but you don't hear me complaining," he replied stubbornly.

"Okay, so what about that sling you have your right arm in? How do you propose to hold a rifle on the wall?"

"I'm a southpaw, _cher_, and luckily enough they make this kind of weapon called a handgun…"

Seeing that he wasn't going to cave to her orders of bed rest, Grace decided on a different tactic, one she knew women had perfected over the centuries.

Placing her hand on his chest, she gently stroked it, leaning against him with a small grin. "You know, there are benefits to staying in bed, darling," she purred.

He eyed her quietly, grey eyes narrowing suspiciously. "Really?"

"Hmm, I've never practiced them, but I've heard good things," she whispered, hooking a leg around his playfully.

Smirking, the Lieutenant tilted his head down towards hers. "Oh? Then maybe you should practice, yeah?"

"I'd need someone to show me a few things first," she said. "Want to volunteer?"

"_Mais_, yeah," he replied, breath fanning across her lips.

Grace smiled a little and closed her eyes, pushing up to meet his mouth, only to find nothing there.

Her eyes popped open and she found the Lieutenant leaning back from her with a grin. He tsked at her and shook a finger. "Trying to manipulate me with your feminine wiles, you little viper." Untangling their legs, he pushed to his feet unsteadily and paced the room slowly, on shaky legs.

Grace eased back onto the bed and watched him quietly, before kicking his boots towards him. "Alright, you want to walk the wall, you'd better put your boots on."

The Lieutenant eased against the wall and eyed the boots quietly, he already looked pale and drained of all energy.

"Go on, I'll even give you a hand up onto the wall if you can put those boots on and lace them up properly," she urged.

He eyed the boots, then her.

Knowing she didn't have much to offer, but willing to bluff her hand to win the game, Grace pushed her breasts up, arching her back. "Or you could call it a day and come back to bed with me."

"Your attempts at seduction are adorable at best," he replied smoothly, still torn between the boots and the cot with her on it.

"Fayette," she teased, "I'm a religious woman. I would never seduce a devil like you."

Quirking a brow at her, he made a move towards his boots where they had tumbled into the middle of the room.

Awkwardly he began to bend backwards a little to pick them up, but winced and shook his head once.

Grace pushed up onto her elbows to watch him patiently. She could tell he was in so much pain just from being upright, but she refused to concern herself. He brought it on himself and the sooner he learned to just lay his fool head down, the better.

Toeing a boot, he tried to flip it up and catch it, but nearly fell backwards.

She gasped a little, tensing to catch him, but he regained his balance and scowled at the boot which had slammed against a nearby wall.

Angling his head to face her, he glowered, mildly perturbed. "Enjoying the struggle?"

"No," she replied honestly.

Sighing wearily, he winced and headed for the cot, easing down onto it beside her quietly.

"Okay," he muttered, "I'll be good."

Cupping her hands to her face, she giggled at his dejected, lost little boy look. Slipping in against him, never so in love with him as she was in that moment, she pressed her face against his wounded shoulder gently, Herschel had put his arm in a sling so that he wasn't tempted to move it and pull the stitches loose. Using his shoulder to stifle her chuckles, she prayed he didn't realize just how close she was to doing whatever it took to get him back on the bed.

Feeling his good arm crossing his body, she felt his hand pat her knee affectionately and beamed up at him.

His eyebrow jerked as he gazed back at her. "I hurt all over," he confessed.

"Lay back, darling," she whispered. "I'll stay with you a while."

"I believe there was talk of bedtime benefits," he mumbled as he allowed her to press him back onto the cot gently.

Grace moved to lie down at his side, hand on his chest, head against his good shoulder. "That was before you decided to grow some intelligence, darling."

"You're a wicked tease, _cher_," he replied. "And yet," he added with a voice like the misty grey rain that had fallen the night before, "you're all I want."

Slipping her arm around his waist to avoid his ribs, she squeezed him gently in response and smiled. Stubborn he may be, but she couldn't say she blamed him. Being stubborn probably kept him alive this long.

Thinking of Daryl Dixon, she wondered if either man realized just how alike they were when it came to certain things.

Fate may have had more social graces, but deep down he was a survivor just like Daryl and she had to admit it was an endearing trait.

* * *

**The Voodoo Dialect**

**Linto** – Linto (or Ghede Linto) is considered the child spirit. He induces childish behavior in those mortals he inhabits. They walk much like a toddler taking his first steps. The company Linto keeps often teases him but only in good humor. He is well mannered and docile and while he is considered the child spirit, he is often represented as an old man. He can smell trouble six months away and can help you prepare for it.


	5. Marassa

**DarylDixon'sLover - Wonderful! Thanks for the review!**

**MollyMayhem84 - Creepy coffin guy is perhaps my favourite description of anyone ever. Thanks for that.**

**songbird1313 - I hope not to make you wait too long.**

**SilverWolf84 - Women have a certain way of utilizing what they've been blessed with, huh?**

**Merle's Right Hand - Yeah, death be not proud, honey. I hate to get graphic on you, but the plugs are due to leakage. Yup. Leakage.**

**Supfan - It's sad. On the one hand I feel for Carl, on the other I can see him thinking he'd be in charge with his daddy gone. So...torn between having Merle smack some sense into him and having Carol give the boy hugs and the ZA equivalent of cookies.**

**HGRHfan35 - Ah, a horse enthusiast, eh? Yes, that is the breed I was thinking of, very good!**

**Whooptiedoo - Oh my, I hope you can handle it, because here's another chapter of this story you love so much. ^_^**

**Brazen Hussy - Hehe, I love your Rickhatership. I really do.**

**Lilone1776 - Yeah, Carl better hope Daryl doesn't hear what he said to Carol, that man would pound that boy into the ground like a wooden stake.**

**itsi3 - I miss Rick too.**

**Ms Q - I agree. They need something good. I too dislike just calling them by their domicile.**

**Surplus Imagination - I don't enjoy making anyone squirm, but what I do enjoy is Caryl moments, as many as I can cram into the story without ruining the plot...or maybe I am. Meh, my story my rules. Mwaaahahaha.**

**GG - Let's hope that place remains decent. For all Tyreese knows they could be cannibals.**

* * *

**Chapter Five: Marassa**

****Carol****

Lying on the grass under the peach tree, tickling Judith's bare belly and watching over Annie and the little girl practiced her spelling, Carol laughed as Judith squealed, kicking her chubby little legs into the air.

Through the open door of the infirmary the soft, strong tenor of the Lieutenant's voice drifted out, caressing the late spring day with song. It was an old Buddy Holly song and seemed appropriate for the sunny, warm day.

Sighing peacefully, Carol continued to play with Judith, occupying the little girl's attentions, soaking in her giggling laughter.

"There's a classic," Mrs. Douglas remarked, making her way towards them, Herschel at her side.

Carol smiled at them. "It's a sweet song, isn't it?"

"-it's getting closer, going faster than a rollercoaster," the old woman sung along softly, coming to a stop by Annie. "And how are you, precious?"

"Good, I'm spelling HOUSE," Annie replied.

"How'd the peace talks go?" Carol asked, shielding her eyes as she gazed up at the two standing.

"The food offering went over well, but they're still reluctant, a lot of them still think you're terrorists."

"Well, they only get one shipment of food," Carol said. "We can't spare anymore."

"I agree," Mrs. Douglas replied. "It's hard, but if they can't see reason we can't do much else. But we'll keep trying, it's rough to say, but thankfully there's not many of them left and those remaining are too weak and infirm to cause your people too much trouble."

"It's a horrible situation," Carol agreed, scooping up Judith and climbing to her feet. "Are you heading in to check on the boys?"

"We thought we would, Beth sent them both a package of outdated cake treats that Glenn and Merle found on their last scavenging trip, she says they should be fine," Herschel said.

Carol smiled, following them to the infirmary, motioning for Annie to follow her.

The little girl stayed a few steps behind, carrying her doll and the chalkboard, she stopped short at the doorway, however, dropping the chalkboard into the grass to tuck a finger into her mouth.

Standing with her, Carol peered in to watch as the Lieutenant gave Mrs. Douglas a hard time and charming grin, while Daryl replied to her inquiries about his health softly, with simple nods of his head.

Beaming as Mrs. Douglas gave both men a motherly kiss on the forehead, Carol noted that Daryl didn't flinch as badly as he had done with her the first time she kissed him and she assumed it was because at nearly eighty, Mrs. Douglas was hardly a threat.

As the old woman and Herschel walked back towards her, Carol heard the Lieutenant remark to Daryl in a staged whisper, "I think I've got a chance with that one," and she laughed.

As Herschel and Mrs. Douglas passed her by, she stepped inside the building, heading across the infirmary floor, knowing Annie would linger obediently at the door, but glancing back just to be sure.

Sure enough the little girl was standing there, finger still stuck in her mouth, eyes warily on the Lieutenant in his bed.

"You know, _ange_," the Lieutenant greeted. "I don't believe I've ever had the chance to hold that _petit pistache_, may I?"

Carol eyed him for a moment with a grin. "Are you sure?"

"_Mais_, yeah," he replied.

Handing off Judith, mindful of his ribs, she laughed as the Lieutenant sniffed the baby tentatively. "Huh, thought she'd smell more like a new car."

Easing onto Daryl's bedside, Carol watched as the Cajun used the hand of the arm in the sling to press his middle fingers to his thumb and perked his outer fingers, making a jackal-looking creature and proceeded to playfully bark at the baby as he held her in his good arm.

Judith squealed happily and tried to grasp the creature.

"Kon-kon," the Lieutenant cooed to the infant.

As she watched the soldier, she felt Daryl's hand running up and down her back and eased back further on the bed until she was pressed against him. He wrapped his hand around her, resting it over her stomach.

At the doorway Annie watched them quietly.

And then Carol noticed the little girl take one very important step inside, finger still in her mouth, her other hand gripping her doll.

"I like this one," the Lieutenant exclaimed, unaware of Annie's movement, or at least appearing unaware, "she's easily amused."

"Yeah, you two should get along fine," Daryl growled from behind Carol. "Both have about the same IQ."

She rested her hand over his and laughed, still watching Annie near the door. Glancing behind her to Daryl, she noticed he was watching Annie as well, wolf-like eyes narrowed as Annie took another important step deeper into the infirmary.

"So, what do you think, Lieutenant?" Carol asked. "Going to have one of your own someday?"

"Never gave it any thought," he replied.

Annie took another step closer, her eyes never once leaving the Lieutenant and Judith. This went on for a few minutes, until Annie was at the very foot of the Lieutenant's bed, eyeing him with wide, unreadable hazel eyes.

She held her breath as Annie, without taking her eyes off the Lieutenant, removed her finger from her mouth and reaching out, touched the Lieutenant's foot, before pulling it away just as quickly.

Annie paused, gauging his reaction to her touch.

The Lieutenant stilled, but didn't take his eyes off Judith. Instead he wriggled his toes at Annie and smiled.

Quietly, Annie turned and hurried out of the building.

Carol was about to go after her, but Daryl tightened his arm around her.

"Hold on," he whispered gruffly. "Let's just wait."

As the Lieutenant went back to playing with Judith, Carol turned to smile at Daryl, finding him smiling back in that barely there, almost shy way of his.

"Sitting in the morning sun," the Lieutenant cooed to the baby, "I'll be sitting when the evening comes. Watching the ships roll in, then I'll watch them roll away again. I'm sitting on the dock of the bay, watching the tide roll away, just sitting on the dock of the bay wasting time. I left my home in Georgia, headed for the 'frisco bay. 'Cause I've had nothing to life for, and looks like nothing's going to come my way."

"He's been doing this for an hour," Daryl growled softly.

Carol beamed at him. "At least he's not half bad. Could be worse."

Behind her Daryl scoffed.

"Laugh all you want, _couyon_," the Lieutenant said, breaking away from his singing to the baby, "but this kid is finally going to be raised the way children outta be; on the classics and nothing else."

Annie appeared in the doorway again, eyes on the Lieutenant.

"So I'm just going to sit on the dock of the bay, watching the tide roll away. I'm sitting on the dock of the bay, wasting time. Look like nothing's going to change, everything still remains the same."

This time it didn't Annie half as long to make her way across the infirmary floor, stopping again at the foot of the Lieutenant's bed, watching him quietly.

Her finger came out and poked the pad of his bare foot again, this time staying there for a moment, before her small hand gripped his big toe and she blinked up at him as though waiting for a response.

"I believe that's the little piggy that went to market, yeah?" The Lieutenant asked, not once looking up from Judith, but beaming anyways.

Annie took her hand back, but remained in her spot, eyes darting over to Carol and Daryl and back to the Lieutenant. The little girl took one step around the foot of the bed, approaching the Lieutenant on the side Carol and Daryl were on, eyes wide.

And then, as though checking on Judith, the little girl pushed up onto her tiptoes, stretching her neck to peer over at the baby in the Lieutenant's arms.

No one said a single thing, as the Lieutenant finally looked over and up at the little girl standing at his bedside.

He offered her a kind grin, but she backed away, not as frightened as she had been, but still suspicious, her little hand going for Daryl's which was resting by Carol's thigh.

Pulling Daryl's arm around her protectively, Annie continued to watch the Lieutenant, not saying anything, just watching as he went back to playing with Judith.

Deciding to try something, Carol pushed up from the bed. Releasing Daryl's other hand and moved to sit on the bed beside the Lieutenant's hip, holding out her hands for Judith.

The soldier handed her over as best he could with one hand, Carol doing most of the work.

Playing with Daryl's large, rough hand, Annie shifted on her feet, blinking her wide, curious eyes.

Carol couldn't help the wide grin that came to her face at the sight of Daryl quietly letting the little girl manhandle his hand. He was smiling that small, cat-like smile of his at Annie's behaviour.

"Are you angry, Lieutenant?" Annie asked finally.

"Not in the least, _boo_." He replied sincerely.

The little girl seemed to contemplate this, hand dropping her doll on the infirmary floor to twist in the hem of her dress, other hand still gripping Daryl's.

For the longest time she just stood there, considering his words, before she spoke again, "are you going to hurt us?"

"Never, honeychild."

Annie was silent again, eyes darting over to check over Judith again, watching the baby garble happily in Carol's arms, before turning her head to look at Daryl for a cue on what to do.

He offered her a small smile.

Turning back, Annie seemed to think some more on the situation, before carefully dropping Daryl's hand and stepping away from his bed.

Slowly, cautiously, she climbed up onto the bed beside Carol, beside the Lieutenant, and eyed him, before reaching out a hand to touch his cheek.

She blinked.

"Are you mad now?" She asked.

"Nope," he replied.

Carol beamed.

"I love you," Annie whispered cautiously, as though those words would make him angry.

Tears welled up in the Cajun's eyes and he smiled broadly. "I know, boo."

"Okay," Annie said, sliding off the bed again. "Okay," she repeated before padding off back towards the infirmary door.

This time Carol followed her, curious.

She watched as Annie marched purposefully across the lawns, heading straight for Grace who was watching the gate.

Standing under the peach tree with Judith in her arms, Carol watched as Annie tugged on Grace's shirt to get her attention, saying something up at the woman.

Grace said something back and then Annie turned and began walking back towards them.

Following the little girl as she marched past, Carol stepped back into the infirmary and watched as Annie moved towards the Lieutenant, hopping up onto the bed on his good side boldly.

"Don't hurt me, okay?" Annie asked, still eyeing him a little suspiciously.

The Lieutenant smiled. "Never, baby girl."

"Alright," Annie said, laying her head carefully against the Lieutenant's chest, playing with the bandages of his neck wound idly. "Carol, you have to stay there, okay?" The little girl commanded, pointing to where she was just easing down beside Daryl again.

"Alright, sweetheart, I'm not going anywhere," she assured the little girl as the Lieutenant carefully wrapped his good arm around Annie.

Feeling Daryl shifting carefully behind her, she felt his hand on her arm, urging her to lie down at his side, Judith carefully tucked onto the bed before her as he wrapped his arm around the both of them. Thankfully the infirmary beds were wider than the cots in the dorms and they could all fit.

At the doorway Grace appeared, moving towards them with wide, curious eyes that softened when she spied Annie and the Lieutenant.

"I was wondering why Annie would come to ask me if the Lieutenant would hurt her," she explained with a small grin. "I see you made up your mind about him," she addressed Annie.

The little girl didn't say anything, just continued to play with the bandages at the Lieutenant's throat.

"She hasn't been sleeping right for a few days," Grace said.

"I know, I can always tell," the Lieutenant replied. "Want me to sing that song you like, boo?"

Annie nodded against his chest.

"Carol, I have to return to the gate, Sister Joan is watching it for me, and I just wanted to check in. May I have a quick word with you first, before I return?"

Carol nodded. "Of course," she said. Behind her Daryl pressed a kiss to her bare shoulder and she felt him smile against her skin there, his scruff tickling her.

Getting up to her feet, she turned back and handed Judith off to Daryl. "I'll be right back." She said.

He was already giving Judith his full attention, so she shrugged and headed off with Grace.

Annie started to sit up, but Carol gave her a gentle smile. "Daryl's right there, honey."

The little girl nodded and flopped back against the Lieutenant, looking like in a few hours she wouldn't care at all if she was left alone with the Cajun again.

Outside the infirmary door the two women huddled together.

"Merle and the others are still out following that trail he found, but it's getting dark," Grace began. "I already asked Father O'Rourke and Sister Mary Claire to walk the wall tonight, Sister Mary Agnes volunteered to take the gate, but it's Carl I want to talk to you about."

The two women glanced towards the bell tower of the church where the sullen young man had taken to hiding out from the world

"Sister Mary Agnes found him packing up his things earlier today. I'm worried he might try to leave."

Carol swallowed thickly. If Carl left he would most certainly insist on taking Judith and Merle had found a trail he thought could be Rick or someone from the mall heading north from the sight of the explosion.

"Maybe I'll talk to him, see where his head's at."

"I'd hate for him to go off angry on his own with that baby sister of his, not when we're unsure if his daddy is alive or dead yet, not when we're unsure if the Governor is."

Carol nodded. "I'll talk to him." Smiling, she reached out and touched a hand to Grace's arm. "Did you see the look on his face?"

Grace smiled, knowing just what Carol was talking about. "I did. That girl getting over whatever caused her panic is one less thing for me to worry about. Now if we can gather our flock back under our wings and start worrying about storing up for winter I'll be infinitely happier."

"That makes two of us." Hesitating, Carol nodded. "We'll get by regardless. We always do."

* * *

**The Voodoo Dialect**

**Marassa** – Marassa (also called the Marassa Dossou Dossa) are considered the sacred twins of the spirits of Vodou. The Marassa represent love, justice and the purity of childhood innocence. The Marassa are very different than the rest of the Loas, in their concept of one plus one equal three: One male and one female together equal three for their abilities to give birth. They are often called upon for matters of conceiving children or bringing family together. While benevolent loas, they can also be quite malicious when forgotten about, often times causing sickness and strife when they've gone neglected or feel slighted.

**The Cajun Dialect**

**Petit pistache** – Little peanut


	6. Petit Pierre

**Lovely reviews from lovely people. Too many to reply to.**

**I've been getting some flak off you guys for Rick being either alive or dead, so here's another chapter that tells you nothing. Enjoy!**

* * *

**Chapter 6: Petit Pierre**

****Merle****

**Five Days Earlier**

When they pulled up to the parking lot of the mall, they were greeted with the stench of rotting flesh and burned plastic.

Circling the mass of tangled vehicles that Sasha had left when she crashed the military truck she had been driving, the woman pulled their smaller blue truck to a stop somewhere near the pile of walkers left rotting in the sun and the four of them emerged. Merle hopping out of the back, eyeing Milton as the brain counted the rounds in his weapon for the eighth time since they set out.

"Bullets don't regenerate magically," Merle said to him, eyeing the area.

"I keep thinking I miscounted," Milton replied, awkwardly positioning his pistol back into the holster at his hip.

"Best use a knife or something anyways," Sasha said as the four of them headed for the mall. "Don't want to attract more attention than necessary."

"I don't know how," Milton confessed.

"You can't shoot or fight, why'd you come along?" Glenn demanded.

Milton eyed their surroundings carefully, looking for signs of survivors. "Because I had to see firsthand what happened to my people."

"Your people are lucky we don't rub the rest of them off the face of the earth," Glenn replied coolly. "Remember that the next time you want to start shit with another group."

Merle scowled. "Yeah, and what happened here is murder too, remember that the next time you get on your high horse."

"Fuck you, man! We were protecting our people from yours," Glenn argued. "We wouldn't have had to do this if it wasn't for your people striking first."

"_We_ did this?" Merle demanded. "Seems to me that Rick did it, you ran away with your tail tucked between your legs."

Stopping at the edge of what was left of the husk of the mall, Merle wasn't expecting the fist that came swinging at his head until it connected with his temple, the smaller Asian launching himself at him.

Collapsing onto the ground, Merle twisted so Glenn fell beneath him, using his heavier frame to press the man into the asphalt.

"You'd better learn to control yourself, little man," Merle snarled as Glenn launched a few more counterattacks, the blows from his fists glancing off Merle's shoulder and face. "I'll knock your ass out."

"Jesus," Sasha growled, standing over top them. "You two fucking amateurs want to shut the hell up and stop scratching each other's eyes out?"

Gripping Glenn's wrists until he heard a pop, Merle beamed at the little man beneath him. "We're doing fine, honey, why don't you just keep an eye out for biters while I adjust this little punk's attitude."

Kicking out, Glenn's boot hit Merle just inside his thigh, very close to where he was sure the man was aiming and Merle scrambled off him.

"You fight like a little bitch," he growled, holding his thigh where a deep ache was setting in.

Getting to his feet, fists still clenched, Glenn eyed him. "Keep your distance from me, Merle."

"Hell I don't want my hair pulled, princess," Merle replied, scooping up the pistol which had fallen from his pants during the fight.

"I was pondering irrational childhood behaviours earlier this morning," Milton began as they started to poke around at the rubble of the mall, looking for signs of Rick and the others. "But I understand now that these behaviours never fully leave certain adults."

"What's that supposed to mean, twerp?" Merle demanded.

"Merely thinking out loud," he replied.

Irritated, Merle made a low sound in his throat and stooped to shove aside a piece of half charred tar paper from the rooftop. "We're never going to find anything in this rubble pile."

"I agree," Sasha replied. "We could sift through it for a week and find nothing."

"Hell, if they were inside the building, there'd be nothing but teeth and gums left."

Stopping, Glenn eyed the woods around them.

"You want to search the whole world before you look in the haystack for the needle?" Milton asked. "Seems like it'd be easier for us to sift through this rubble first."

"And what are we looking for, Milt?" Merle demanded. "At the high impact this explosion caused? The hellfire and brimstone, what would be left of a body?"

"Bone fragments," Milton replied.

"Exactly, so enjoy and get digging." Dusting off his hands, Merle hopped off the rubble where he made a path and started towards the woods.

"Where are you off to?" Sasha demanded.

"I'm going to look for a trail - if there is one - before it gets cold," he shouted back.

Jumping down from a nearby piece of brick wall, Milton approached him. "I'll go with you."

"Hell no, I ain't babysitting your ass."

"I guess I'll have to risk being in a friendless environment then," the little nerd replied.

"Your choice, but you screw up and get me in danger and I'll gut punch you with my right arm." Merle snapped.

**____********************..-~-..**

* * *

******____********************..-~-..**

****Carol****

**Five Days Earlier**

Dipping her hands into the clear, clean warm water, she drenched the rag she had been using and wrung it out gently, picking up Daryl's arm to run the cloth over his flesh. She had bathed him after his surgery, but wanted to keep him clean to avoid infection, keep the area and the infirmary as sterile as possible if she could help it.

Lovingly, almost reverently, she cleaned him, running the rag over his flesh, making note of his scars.

She had taken note of them before, all forty-eight large, dark, roughly healed scars that streaked across his torso this way and that, but this time she studied them carefully, realizing that every one of the scars must have been a very bad, very sore, open wound at one time.

Looking up at his face, she tried to imagine him as a little boy and it broke her heart to realize that he probably had a look of innocence and open emotions.

Bowing her head back to her work, she decided there was no point dwelling on the past and things she couldn't change. But the mother inside her raged at innocence being destroyed by the cruelty of an unjust world.

Someone bumping the door of the infirmary against the wall behind it startled her and she turned, hand tightening on the porcelain bowl of warm water, prepared to heft and use it if she had to.

Inside the Lieutenant stood there, swaying on his feet, looking pale and pained.

"What are you doing out of bed?" She asked softly.

"Sorry," he said. "Am I bothering you?"

"No."

"I can't find my dog tags," he explained swaggering into the infirmary on unsure feet.

"Does Grace know you're out of bed?" Carol asked, turning back to her task.

"Hell no, if she did she'd be riding my ass," he returned.

Behind her there was a thump and she spun around again, finding the man supporting himself against the wall, looking shocked as he held the wall with his good arm.

"You'd better sit down before you fall down," she said, pushing to her feet to help him to the cot beside Daryl's.

The Lieutenant was shaking and she could feel how weak he was just by touching him. "This was," he broke off to inhale deeply, "probably the worst trip I ever took."

Helping him onto the cot, Carol pulled a face at his stupidity. "You should be more careful."

"Hm."

Sitting back down at Daryl's side, she resumed her work in silence.

"How's he doing?"

"Fine," she replied, "he's just fine."

"_Bien_," he sighed.

"I know what you did for him," she said. "They would have killed him on sight. You saved him."

The Lieutenant was quiet for a moment. "I'm not a hero, _ange_," he confessed softly. "I'm just a mindless drone who was carrying out his mission objective. I saw the opportunity and I took it."

"You're not a mindless drone, Lieutenant," she argued.

"Oh, I am, _ange_, a drone through and through, such is the powerful training of the US Marine Corps." He smirked to himself.

Carefully daubing Daryl's chest dry, she moved on to his neck and face. "You shouldn't have done that to Grace, though. Everyone thought you were dead."

"Yeah," he said after another moment of silence. "There are three things you learn when you go into battle, Carol," he began quietly. "One, every life is expendable, two, you do what needs to be done and three, nothing's poetic or beautiful about death. You scream and plead and beg, snot runs from your nose, tears from your eyes, then you void your bowels and then you're gone. Ain't pretty, but it's reality."

Carol diverted her entire attention to him, blue eyes blinking, her tongue unable to process the words her mind was screaming. She wanted to scold him, to shame him for the pain he caused Grace just by being reckless, but she found she didn't have the heart.

"I'm so glad I didn't void my bowels," he remarked. "Would have put a barrier of tension as thick as a healthy woman's thighs between me and everyone else if they had to witness that," he scoffed. "Grace and Annie were the last things I thought about," he admitted. "They brought me peace."

Realizing the reason why she didn't scream or berate him for what he put Grace was because her tongue understood what her mind couldn't. That the Lieutenant was bearing a part of him that he probably would never share so openly with anyone.

She could see the fear, the sorrow and the darkness that touched him as he spoke to her and she understood why she knew he needed silence before she even registered it.

"I'm scared that I'll never be able to really say to them how much I love them and need them in my life," he added so quietly she nearly missed it. "I've never been good when it came to serious discussions of love and family."

Reaching over, she fumbled for his good hand, gripping it with hers tightly, offering him comfort.

"I saw her smile once," he said. "Made me feel like I was worth something to her."

"Lieutenant, you are worth something. You're worth the world to them." She replied.

He offered her a weak smile, looking worn out and tired. "I'm glad Daryl's okay," he said. "Not just for my own selfish reasons, but because you two are stronger together. That boy loves you something fierce, doesn't even have to say it, I just know. He needs you."

Carol smiled. "I need him."

Releasing her hand, the Lieutenant adjusted his position uncomfortably on the bed. "Yeah, so when's the wedding? A Cajun loves a good wedding."

"I don't see us doing that," Carol said. "This world, it seems unnecessary."

"Hm, true, but it might be nice to have a good celebration of life for once, not just a funeral."

"Why don't you get married, then? Give us something to celebrate?" She asked.

He grinned slyly. "Yeah, I'm working on it."

"You would marry her, wouldn't you?"

"In a heartbeat."

"Why? Why so eager?"

"Eager? _Ange_, have you seen her? Grace is a _jolie catin_, she's a pretty little doll, 'course _catin_ also means whore, which she isn't, so…don't tell her I said that." He had no sooner finished saying this, then the door to the infirmary bumped against the wall and Grace marched in, rifle slung on her shoulder, face grim.

Behind her Annie lingered in the doorway, Beth with Judith in her arms beyond.

The poor girl was beaten from her car accident, but she was still in better shape than Daryl and the Lieutenant.

"Do you worry me on purpose?" Grace demanded of the Lieutenant.

"I love it when you get strapped up," he returned with a cheeky grin. "Nothing sexier to me than a woman with a gun on her back who means business."

"Even if she's almost hotter than the devil?" Grace asked, checking the Lieutenant's wounds to see if he pulled any stitches loose.

"Well, I don't find the devil half as hot as you, _cher_, especially when you turn on those feminine wiles of yours." He retorted.

With her cheeks tinting pink, she poked his chest hard with a finger. "One of these days that forked tongue of yours is going to get caught in a gin mill of trouble."

Turning to face Carol, the Lieutenant beamed. "She likes to pretend she's angry, but there's velvet behind that rough touch of hers."

"You're a horrible man," Grace stated.

"How about a kiss for good health?" He returned.

"Did you hear what I said? A horrible man."

Carol hid her smile with her hand, trying hard not to encourage the Lieutenant.

"One kiss," he said.

"No, I'm not giving you a reward for being a simple minded thug who doesn't listen to reason," Grace insisted.

"Thug?" The Lieutenant inquired, before his smile fell and he winced, hand gripping at his sternum. "Ah."

Grace immediately perched on the side of his bed, eyes solemn. "Are you alright?"

"No," he panted. "I think…my heart…"

Suddenly worried, Carol too leaned forward, ready to make a mad dash for Herschel.

"I think you broke it, _cher_," the Lieutenant ended with a proud grin.

"Oh, good Lord," Grace exclaimed, pushing to her feet. "I wash my hands of you," she stated. "If you want to wander the earth in your condition, I'm not going to concern myself any longer." As Grace stormed out, the Lieutenant grinned widely.

"She's so pretty when she's angry," he stated.

"You think maybe she's genuinely angry with you?" Carol suggested.

"Of course she is, it's fire I'm playing with there, but," he beamed, "I can't help myself. Short of throwing her onto a bed and ravishing her, I have to make due with working her into another sort of passion."

"Well, keep pushing, she's going to chain you to a bed eventually," Carol said.

The Lieutenant chuckled. "Sounds like a successful Friday night to me."

* * *

**The Voodoo Dialect**

**Petit Pierre** – Petit Pierre is a lesser known loa who generally likes to eat, drink and pick fights with people. He is considered more of a trickster spirit then a deity.

**____********************..-~-..**

**The Cajun Dialect**

**Bien** - Good


	7. Bosou Koblamin

**Too many reviews to address all of them, here's some that need replies!**

**amber24-03 - I think the Lt. has a huge pile of respect for Carol, which is why he doesn't rile her as hard as he riles the others. That being said, I wouldn't be surprised if he does one day push her buttons because everyone else is just done with his shit and learns to ignore it.**

**Ms Q - I too want to make a bundle out of Rick. He looks like all he needs is a damned hug on the show.**

**SilverWolf84 - Milton will get a bigger role in this story, it's still just starting out, I'm hoping his brain can help the group put to use a lot more ingenious techniques to keep food, to produce more food, to generally be more productive in order to survive.**

**HGRHfan35 - Because you complained so much about the days lagging, I've sped things up. Enjoy missing out on a lot of good stuff in order to rush the storyline. (I am - of course - kidding).**

**MollyMayhem84 - Geez, calm down...cripes, building suspense here, kiddo. But fine, here's a damned Rick chapter, enjoy. ^_^**

**Okay, kids, obviously I don't speak Farsi, so I had to translate English into Farsi (translate it back into English to make sure nothing got lost in the translation), then Romanize it. So...if I made a mistake in my Farsi, I apologize. I don't mean to insult anyone with my horrible Farsi capabilities.**

* * *

**Chapter Seven: Bosou Koblamin**

****Rick****

**Three Days Earlier**

Overhead there was grey haze that burst with dancing lights, rays of butter yellow light that blinded him and kept what lay in the dark a mystery to him.

A figure broke the light, allowing the rays to splash over their shoulders, creating a halo of light around their head and a pair of the most hypnotizing brown eyes captivated his full attention, back lit by a lantern that hung over their heads by the dead light fixture of the old world.

He recalled running, chasing something, someone, but the eyes soothed his concern. There was still a threat, wasn't there? What had he been chasing?

A man.

He bolted upright.

The Governor, Woodbury, the mall had exploded, why wasn't he inside it? What pieces of his memory was he missing?

"_Rwa tkht draz bkeshad_," the figure spoke, a gentle hand pushing against his shoulder.

Rick blinked at the woman with the enticing brown eyes the colour of mahogany as she gently forced him back onto the pile of blankets and pillows he was lying on. He took in the headscarf she wore, the way her hair was carefully tucked under the simple taupe coloured cloth and frowned. "Who are you?"

"She says you should lie down," someone spoke in a thick accent from his right side.

"I have to go, I don't know who you are or how I got here, but I have to go," Rick insisted, eyeing the young boy who stood at the side of his bed. He had the same hypnotizing eyes, fringed with the same thick, dark lashes.

"_Shma bayd khwab_," the woman repeated in a soft, lyrical tone, softly whispering to him in a soothing tone.

"She says you should sleep. I think you should too, it'll do you well."

"Who are you?" Rick demanded. "I don't know how I got here, but I can't stay."

"Sleep," the boy suggested, tilting his head and mocking a person at rest, curling up against his hands.

Eyeing the boy, then the woman who was opening a plastic bottle of water, Rick scowled. "I have to go. If I'm not a prisoner, I have to go."

"_Aw ma guwad keh aw baad anja ra trke kennd_," the boy said to the woman.

The woman shook her head, turning her eyes on him. "_Ayn bd ast_," she cooed, "_ltfa bh pesht bkhwabad w astraht kenad_."

"She says you're a dumb man to want to leave," the boy said, pointing to his head, the boy blinked his big brown eyes. "You got hit really badly there."

Rick eased back onto the bed. "I can't really remember much."

"You dropped like a little bitch."

Confused by the suddenly masculine, very deep and dark voice, Rick winced and studied his surroundings again, in the doorway of what looked like some kind of storage room, he found a man entering and tensed.

"You attacked me?" Rick demanded.

"No, I said you dropped like a little bitch, I'd hardly call one tap to the head an attack."

"I think hitting me is the very definition of an attack," Rick replied.

"Whatever, Huckleberry," the man replied. "Point is you suck at defence."

"Why would you hit me?"

Sticking an unlit cigarette into his mouth, the man winced as he pondered his next words. His hands paused halfway to lighting it with a match. "Seemed like a good idea at the time," he muttered through a dangling cigarette.

"Look, just let me walk, okay? I don't have anything you'd want."

"You've got a nice piece," he stated. "And I like your boots."

Rick tensed. "Who are you? You're obviously not Muslim," he stated motioning towards the woman and boy.

"Why, my religious beliefs are none of your business, sir." The man declared.

"Look, my people will be looking for me," Rick lied. They probably thought he blew up with the mall, but he was playing a wildcard, hoping to bluff.

"Oh?" The man inquired. "Well, we'd better set you free then. Wouldn't want any undo rage vented in our direction. But," the man paused, easing a heavy cowboy boot onto the edge of an old wooden chair at the side of the bed of rags to lean over Rick, "here's the thing. I'm curious as to why you shot that man in cold blood. He wasn't a shuffler as far as we saw, ain't that right Nadir?"

The boy nodded. "Yes."

"So, that makes you a cold blooded killer," the man drawled. "Whatcha doin' huntin' men down, killer?"

Unable to recall who it was he shot, the pieces missing from his previous days were just blank spaces in his memory, Rick shrugged. "I don't know."

"You don't know why you killed a living human being, Huckleberry? That's a funny reason to kill a man."

"I can't remember? You hit me on the head."

"Oh, my bad," the man chuckled. "Alright, killer, you just hang tight and I'll think of something to do with you."

"I'm not a killer." Rick argued.

"Sure you are, put a bullet in that man's brain, remember Nadir?"

"Yes."

"And who the hell are you to judge me?" Rick growled.

The man paused at the doorway and grinned. "Oh, I'm not judging you, Huckleberry, killed a man or two myself. For the times they are a changin'."

"Where'd you find me?"

"Perdition."

"I'm serious." Rick insisted, his head was so jumbled, he couldn't make out anything other than his people, his group and the danger they were in.

Removing the cigarette from his mouth, the man exhaled a long line of smoke, before he sniffed. "The highway."

"And the man I shot, what'd he look like? Eyepatch?"

"No."

Searching his mind, Rick could only recall snippets of images. Oh God, what was his name?

"Was he black?"

"African American, please?" The man replied. "Or are you one of them good ol' Georgia boys who wear bed sheets on their heads like a bunch of kids playing dress up?"

"My people are in danger if you don't let me go," Rick tried once more to reason with the man.

"Oh? In danger from what?"

"I was…chasing a man down, I think, running through the woods, something went wrong…he's dangerous."

The man stilled. "How so?"

"A few months back two of my people were taken, this man and his people took them, hurt the girl badly, tried to kill the man, they wanted information, they wanted what we had, went to war with them, lost a few people. This man fights dirty, sends in walkers, uses heavy artillery on women and children, he doesn't care. His group, the people at Woodbury, they get fat and prospers while others fall," Rick explained.

Moving back towards the Rick's pile of rags, the man kicked a chair close and eased down onto it, leaning forward. "You have my attention, killer."

"These people…it's kill or be killed, they're dangerous and they'll be a threat your group as well," Rick went on.

"My group?" The man inquired. "I don't have a group."

Rick's eyes went to the woman and kid and the man scoffed.

"They ain't mine, came across them two weeks ago, a shuffler was tearing through her husband like Garfield in a lasagne pan."

"What?"

"Garfield, he was a cat—"

"No, I mean, nobody survives without a group and yours is in danger."

Exhaling a stream of smoke into Rick's face, the man smirked. "Look, I'm just passing through, killer. Truth is if you keep moving, you have a lesser chance of getting nabbed. I like the road. Safer."

"My name's Rick Grimes, that's preferable to 'killer'," he pointed out.

The man smiled, it was an easy, all too winning grin. "Sure, but I like 'killer' better. That's what you are, isn't it? Stone cold killer?"

"It's my group or his. I don't hesitate when it comes to my people."

"That's sweet, it is, and I get all gooey thinking about the camaraderie. I really do. But you still killed a man and that's just uncool."

Rick sighed.

"Alright, look, you were in rough shape when I found you and then I hit you and well, I feel like a bit of a fool, but you looked mean and had that pistol on you, what was I supposed to think?"

"How many days have I been out?" Rick asked, suddenly aware of the fact that he may have been missing more time that he couldn't remember than he originally thought.

"Oh, I don't know, couple of day?"

"Jesus."

"Could have been worse, usually I shoot first, but the kid was with me," the man took a deep drag of his cigarette and pulled a face. "Christ these are dry, but beggars and addicts can't complain at the end of the world, huh?"

Rick eyed the man, his head was throbbing and he needed another drink of water. "Where are you from?" He croaked, as the woman handed him the bottle water again, anticipating his need of it. "Your accent isn't Georgian."

"Oh? You can tell huh? Well, aren't you just the dialect expert, Huckleberry." The man laughed at him casually, still savouring his cigarette. "I suppose you could say I'm a citizen of the world."

"Arkansas," Rick growled.

The man paused in his smoking to smirk. "Alright, killer, what'd I do before all this, then, if you're that good at observation?"

"Dentist," Rick replied.

"Why'd you say that?"

"Because I'm getting a Doc Holliday vibe off you, watch too many cowboy films as a kid? Think this is the Wild West, do you?"

The man grinned. "Well, you're wrong, killer. I was a gynecologist."

"I doubt that very much," Rick replied.

"Oh? You don't know, I could have had my hand in so much pussy—"

"I doubt any of it was professional."

He laughed. "Sure, killer, whatever you want to think then."

Rick eyed the man for a long, quiet moment, still struggling to gain back some memories of the days he spent in the woods. "When can I go, if I'm not a prisoner?"

"When you can walk out that door." The man replied. "But…well, here's where things get political."

"What do you mean?"

"I'm not going to let you go unless you do something for me, sound fair?"

"What?"

"Well, I'll let you walk out that door with your kit and your gun and," he smirked, "your virtue, if you take these two with you back to your people and put them under your protection."

Rick eyed the woman and kid. "Why?"

"Because that one insists on doing my laundry and that one won't get off my ass long enough for me to do anything," he replied pointing at first the woman and then the child. "I'm better off on my own, always have been."

"You trust me and my people to treat a woman and child properly?" Rick demanded.

"Sure," the man replied

"Yeah, and then we bring her back, she slips out in the night and gives you a head's up to where my people are. Do you think I'm stupid?"

"Well, I was hoping you be diplomatic at least," the man replied, shifting on his feet and standing up.

Rick watched him leave the room, only to return a few seconds later, a fireman's ax in hand.

He set it quietly on the floor, head down, handle resting against the wall.

"There," he pointed out calmly. "That's my entire arsenal. You think I'm going to take on your people armed with an ax and a kid who can't even walk straight without tripping over his own feet?"

"You expect me to believe you survived this long with just an ax?"

"Oh, I've had guns, but the noise draws them, so I completely disregarded the projectile ordnance for a more silent but useful tool of destruction."

Eyeing the door, Rick scowled. "And what would you do if I decide to just stroll out that door?"

"Well, the kid's around, so I'd probably just knock you out again, but then I'd drag your ass outside and leave you out cold for the shufflers to pick clean." As Rick's captor wandered back out the door, Rick studied the kid and woman in the man's absence. "You in any danger?" He asked the kid.

"No."

"He doesn't hurt you or your sister?"

"She's my mother," the boy said.

Wandering back into the room, the man knelt at Rick's side. "Look, one day we'll reach an agreement, but today isn't your day, killer."

Narrowing his eyes, Rick was about to continue his discussion with the man when something hard and solid met with his temple.

******____********************..-~-..**

* * *

******____********************..-~-..**

When he opened his eyes again, he woke to sunlight shining in through the bottom of the door to the room and a migraine that would kill a lesser man.

Pushing into a sitting position painfully, he blinked at the room around him.

It was empty of life expect for him, half a bottle of water and a package of cheese crackers rested beside him, his pistol and what little bullets he had left beside them.

After a second of gathering himself, he realized what woke him from his unconscious state wasn't natural, but the thumping and scratching at the door.

Rick eyed the knob as it jittered and rattled, before calmly collecting his things and pushing to his feet shakily.

Ignoring the clawing at the door for a moment, Rick searched the room for something to use that wouldn't cause too much noise, just in case it was only one walker.

Grabbing a shakily built metal shelf, he tugged and pulled, breaking it apart with difficulty until finally he had a decent length piece of metal pipe.

Going to the door, he calmed himself, still feeling like he wasn't really in a good state to do anything, before yanking it open.

The walker fell in towards him and he jammed the pipe up through the soft bottom of its chin into its head. The thing collapsed heavily on him and in his weakened state he dropped beneath it, crumpling to the floor.

Thankfully there was only one and after a struggle, he managed to roll the corpse off him.

Folding a scrap of old sheet into a sack bag, he stuffed the water and crackers into it and slinging it across his torso and stepped out into what he realized was a small mom and pop convenience store.

If he could find his bearings, he could get back home. He'd make sense of things when he had time to regroup his thoughts.

* * *

**The Voodoo Dialect**

**Bosou Koblamin** – Bosou is a violent loa, capable of defeating his enemies, he is often seen during times of war. He often protects his travellers when they travel at night and while he will come to the protection of his followers, he is often thought of to be unreliable and can sometimes be known to abandon his followers. Bosou has three horns which he affectionately named: Strength, Wildness and Violence.

******____********************..-~-..**

**The Farsi Dialect**

**Rwa tkht draz bkeshad** – Lie down

**Shma bayd khwab** – You should sleep

**Aw ma guwad keh aw baad anja ra trke kennd** – He says that he must leave

**Ayn bd ast** – This is bad

**Ltfa bh pesht bkhwabad w astraht kenad** – Please lay back and relax


	8. Bade & Sogbo

**This chapter is an absolute monster, so no in-depth replies to reviews.**

**Thanks for the reviews, you wee mongrels!**

* * *

**Chapter Eight: Bade & Sogbo**

****Daryl****

"Where are you off to in the middle of the night like a sneak thief?"

The convent had long fallen silent and dark in the still of the night and the Lieutenant was lightly dozing under an open book, when Daryl decided to get off his lazy ass.

Daryl eyed him quietly. "Never mind, go back to sleep."

"You heading out?"

"Just mind your own business."

Frowning, the Lieutenant pulled a face at Daryl. "If you're leaving I want to go too."

"No, just stay put, you're not in any shape to wander around, besides how are you going to go anywhere with them chains on?"

"I'm in better shape than you, _couyon_." He replied.

"Yeah, well, what are you going to do if I leave your ass behind? Scream like a woman?"

"Yeah, I will," the other man replied, "hold on."

Rubbing at the wound that was irritating him, Daryl watched as the Cajun removed his right arm from his sling leaned down towards the foot of the bed where the chains had been wrapped around the metal rods and with a his left hand and a flex of military muscle that surprised Daryl, the man yanked out the ones that he was chained to.

"You mean you could have done that at any time?" He demanded.

"I didn't want to cause any undo fuss," the Lieutenant pointed out, carefully pushing to his feet. "Besides, I'm going to have to repair it when we get back. I was hoping to avoid it."

"That woman of yours will beat you with it, you know that right?" Daryl growled.

"Oh most definitely." The Lieutenant said, shaking his leg to rid himself of the chain. "But riling her up is half the fun. So where we sneaking off to?"

"I'm going to find Rick."

"Oh, a dangerous mission at any rate, have you put any thought into the fact that neither one of us is battlefield ready? I don't know about you, but my ribs feel like they're going to collapse on me like a star going supernova."

"Then stay behind," Daryl growled as they reached the door to the infirmary.

"I'm good."

Carefully poking his head out, Daryl spied Sister Mary Elizabeth sitting up on watch outside their door, gazing up at the stars in the night sky.

Ducking back into the infirmary, he pondered his options, before moving towards the barricaded window.

Yanking the bed which had been thrown against it haphazardly, he carefully lowered it to the ground and peeked out the broken window. The infirmary was about a couple of feet from the west wall and he didn't want any of the wall walkers to come across their escape.

Finding the wall empty for the moment, he quickly and quietly knocked the broken shards that remained implanted in the window sill out and dragged his carcass up and through, wincing as his stitches pulled.

Even slower, the Lieutenant dragged himself through behind Daryl, mindful of his ribs.

Daryl would image the man was in more pain than he was due to his ribs, but said nothing, waiting crouched in the shadows patiently for him.

Slowly making their way towards his shed in the darkness of the wall, he wasn't surprised at how quietly the Cajun moved. He was Marine Recon, good at creeping up on people.

Scampering out of the dark at the right moment, they made a beeline for the frat house first. Pausing there long enough in the shadows, before darting out for Daryl's shed.

Pausing at the door, Daryl quietly lifted the latch and opened the door, peering into the darkness long enough to allow his eyes to adjust, before finding the shed empty and moving inside, the Lieutenant at his heels.

In the darkness of the shed, without the aid of the candles Carol had put up around the place for light, he searched for his crossbow, knowing she would have put it in there with their things.

Finding his bag in the dark, he fumbled through it for supplies, before his hand found a small leather pouch and he pulled it out.

It was the Cajun's mojo bag, the one he had put away carefully due to the gold rings inside.

Not one for superstitions, at least out loud, he glanced behind him, finding the Lieutenant rubbing at his ribs idly, waiting for Daryl, he quickly pulled the mojo bag over his head and tucked it under his shirt.

Couldn't hurt.

Picking up his bag, slinging it on his back and grabbing his crossbow, he motioned for the Cajun to lead the way out of the shed and they scurried back into the night.

Remembering the Cajun said he had to add something meaningful to him to the mojo bag in order for it to work, he plucked a rose off the vine as they passed by the small flower garden he was slowly transplanting for Carol and shoved it into the bag under his shirt quickly.

They paused at the dorms, long enough for the Lieutenant to duck inside for his gear and when the man emerged with his gun, but no Kevlar vest, Daryl pulled a face at him.

The Lieutenant rubbed his ribs as a silent answer and they moved on, heading for the east wall where it was easier to scale without being noticed, easier on their bodies too as the east wall had a couple of old wooden crates stacked up against it for shorter people like Carl and Grace to get up onto it.

Glancing down the wall one way and then the other for traffic, Daryl spied his moment and took it, hopping onto the crate and leaping onto the wall, gasping as he felt a stitch pull, he wasn't sure if it tore, but he wasn't about to stop and check, so he dropped over the wall gracelessly, landing in a scurry of limbs on the forest floor.

Above him the Lieutenant was having a harder time get up and over the wall, having to bang his ribs against the stone capping at the top in order to pull himself up and over.

Daryl winced in sympathy as the man slammed hard against the top of the wall, his face contorting in pain, before he scrambled into a sitting position and eased off the wall with a little more grace than Daryl had.

Hearing the rustling of leaves nearby, Daryl looked over to find they had fallen about a couple of feet from Milton's pet walker and she had noticed their movements.

He motioned towards her and the Lieutenant nodded, pushing to his feet to scurry over and untie her from the tree.

In their condition it was probably best to have some added protection, he decided, watching the Cajun secure the walker's chains to his waist and leading her into the woods, Daryl bringing up the rear.

******____********************..-~-..**

* * *

**********____********************..-~-..**

They were keeping just off the highway, heading in the direction of the mall when the sun came up.

During their journey they had come across only one or two walkers, but keeping their heads down, shuffling with Milton's lady friend, they managed to get close enough to quickly and quietly take them out. By the time the sun was just over the trees in the distance, the Lieutenant was beginning to lag.

Daryl could tell the upright position was wreaking hell on his ribs, the man's usually graceful, cat-like, prowling gait was beginning to become a little more stilted, a little more pained with each jarring step.

Easing into a crouch, he waited for the Cajun to do the same. He wouldn't say it, but he was taking a break for himself too, all the walking and the sweating, was rubbing the gauze of his bandages against his wound, the friction working his skin into a raw, painful state.

The two men eased onto the ground, back to back, covering each other as they rested leaning back on the other. Neither one would admit it was a bad idea, both were too stubborn. Nearby Milton's lady walker tugged idly at the chain, not too interested in much anymore, not even them it seemed.

"There were three guys talking in a bar," the Lieutenant began quietly.

"Two of them were talking about the amount of control they had over their wives, while the third remained quiet.

After a while one of the first two turns to the third and said, 'well, what about you, what sort of control do you have over your wife?'

The third fellow said, 'I'll tell you. Just the other night my wife came to me on her hands and knees.'

The first two guys were amazed.

'Wow! What happened then?' They asked.

The third man took a deep gulp of his beer, sighed and uttered, 'she said, 'Get out from under the bed and fight like a man.'"

Daryl scoffed.

"Hell of a day for a mildly sexist joke," the Lieutenant mused.

Eyeing the trees around them, listening to the rush of the wind through the leaves, Daryl sighed. If this wasn't the end of the world, if they were just two men out hunting or relaxing, he'd be happy.

Of course he was never fully happy, content, not displeased, but never happy.

Closest he came to happy was with Carol. She made him feel like everything would be okay, like he was on the right track to doing something right.

Fidgeting with his hand on his crossbow, Daryl squinted at the sun that was blazing down on them through the trees. "Hey, Fay?"

"Hm?"

"Y—" he hesitated. The truth was he trusted the Cajun, but he didn't want to seem like a loser who couldn't do things on his own. Deciding the Lieutenant would never mock him for asking a question Daryl exhaled and tentatively went on. "You're good with women, right?"

"Depends what you mean by good."

"You get them, don't you?"

"What's on your mind, _cabri_?"

"You think Carol's happy? I mean with me?" He waited a full four seconds in utter terror, hating himself for asking the question, hating that he was so afraid of the Lieutenant laughing at him or mocking him, something he knew Merle would have done.

Instead the Cajun shifted calmly behind him. "Yeah, I think you make her very happy. Think you make her very proud too."

Pondering this, he wasn't sure just what he did to make her proud of him, but he'd try to continue to do it. He wanted that, for her to be proud of him, he liked the idea.

"You know though, she's not going to be pleased with you for this stunt."

"Yeah, Grace is going to be pissed at you too."

"Sure enough."

"Then why'd you come?"

The Lieutenant shifted, trying to find a comfortable position for his ribs. "The book of Ruth, Daryl, one-sixteen: whither thou goest, I will go and where thou lodgest, I will lodge."

"Didn't take you for a bible thumper," Daryl teased.

The Cajun chuckled. "Ah, well, it was in the drawer by my bed in the infirmary, thought I could skim through it for my girl. It's poetic enough and there's good advice in it, but then again there are words of wisdom on loyalty to friends in every religious tome and manual across the world. The Hindus have their tale of Rama and Lakshman, Buddha had Ananda, the Jewish have their tale of Jonathan and you have me. Semper fidelis, brother, always loyal."

"If you're so smart," Daryl snarled, trying to ignore the fact that the Lieutenant's words actually impacted on him hard, "then how'd you end up in the corps instead of a college or something?"

"Couldn't afford it, plus I dicked around in high school, so my grades were never high enough," the Cajun said. "But I'm happy enough doing what I do…what I did, I guess. I like protecting people, keeping them safe. No child nor woman nor any man should suffer the indignities of the world's darkest corners."

Smirking, Daryl was about to retort something back, but the sounds of a vehicle approaching on the highway caught his attention, it was distant at first, but making its way closer at speeds only the devil could keep up with.

Both men got to their feet, stooping low in the underbrush to poke their weapons out, looking down their scopes in the direction the sound was coming from.

Over the sounds of the roaring engine came gunfire and squealing of tires, as around the bend of the highway a '72 grand prix came tearing up the asphalt, a heavy looking suburban on its ass, two men poking out the back windows, firing at the car as it dusted them.

The car seemed to fishtail as it wove around a couple of abandoned vehicles, blowing past them at an incredible speed. The steel grey car was gone, the suburban still on its ass, the men still unloading rounds of bullets into its back window.

"What the hell?" Daryl muttered, eyeing the vehicles as they skidded around another bend. "Are they looking to attract walkers?"

"_Mais_, it's becoming the wild west around here," the Lieutenant added.

"Come on, we should head after them, it could have been Rick."

"You'll never catch them, _cabri_. That car was going at least 90."

Across the distance put between them and the vehicles, the sound of rubber skidding across asphalt and twisting metal bombarded their ears and Daryl winced.

"Come on, haul ass, sounds like they caught up."

Hanging the chain to Milton's walker in the branches of a tree to retrieve later, in too much of a hurry to drag her slow ass behind them, the Lieutenant followed Daryl, moving as quickly and quietly as he dared.

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By the time they reached the scene of the accident, creeping through the trees as quickly as they could, they found the men from the suburban already had a man pulled out of the Grand Prix, beating the absolute shit out of his face, restraining a screaming woman.

"That ain't Rick," Daryl whispered, eyeing the Muslim woman who was being dragged off by a handful of the men, back towards the suburban.

"You think Carver is just going to let you walk off with his property, Cash?" One of the men asked, giving the man on the ground a jarring kick to the ribs.

Beside Daryl the Lieutenant winced in empathy.

The man on the ground muttered something.

"What was that, Cash? Can't hear you through the blood coming out of your fat mouth."

"People aren't property."

"We tracked you across three states. You think we weren't serious, dipshit?"

"That's interesting," the man on the ground replied, spitting out blood from his mouth in a fine spray onto the asphalt, "how many states does your mama travel to give a free blowjob?"

The large man who seemed in charge slammed his fist into the back of the man's skull, knocking him onto the ground. "Keep it up, Cash."

On the ground the man spit out more blood, allowing it to pool beneath him as he knelt prostrate before his attackers. "Last I heard it was nine, shortpants."

"Get the chains," the bigger man ordered. "We're going to grind him up."

"I don't like the sound of that," the Lieutenant whispered.

Daryl eyed the scene, he wasn't sure who was in the right, didn't like to involve himself in someone else's mess, but he wasn't about to let them kill someone.

"You get up high, find a good view," the ordered the Lieutenant. "I'm gonna head out."

"I got your back, _cabri_."

******____********************..-~-..**

* * *

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Strolling along the centre line of the highway with his crossbow slung on his back, he approached the men as they strung heavy looking chains to the back of their suburban.

"Hey," he called out.

They turned on him, weapons drawn.

Daryl held up his hands. "Whoa, easy," he said. "I'm just passing through."

"Yeah, well keep walking, redneck," one of the men said.

The large leader came around the ass end of the suburban, dragging the Grand Prix driver roughly by the arm. The man was limp and near passed out.

"Who the hell are you?"

"Just surviving, man." Daryl said. "I don't want no trouble."

"Well you're going to get my boot up your ass if you don't keep moving, hillbilly," the big leader snarled.

"Fair enough, I don't want no piece of what you have going there," he replied. Spying the woman chained up in the backseat of the suburban, weeping and slamming her fists against the window, Daryl decided it was safe enough to make his move.

Narrowing his eyes at the man being chained, Daryl scowled. "Wait…you son of a bitch!" He growled, launching himself at the man, knocking the two of them onto the ground beside the suburban, clear of the line of shot.

Behind him, as he forced the man under the vehicle with him, he heard gunshots being fired and bodies dropping.

Grabbing his crossbow, he struggled to get it off his back in the cramped space under the vehicle, but managed in time to fire a bolt into the head of a man who was dropping to his knees to follow them.

The pause in gunfire let him know the Lieutenant was reloading and Daryl checked his left quickly, before rolling out from under the suburban, keeping low, he reloaded his crossbow, searching around for remaining men.

Spinning around, he took three quick steps towards the hood of the vehicle in time to find another man peeking up over it. Daryl shot him with another bolt ending his threat effectively.

After a moment the Lieutenant emerged from the treeline, looking pale and tired, his shoulder wound seeping blood through his shirt, giving Daryl the all clear.

He moved around the suburban, finding the man from the Grand Prix out cold half under the vehicle, face down on the asphalt.

Opening the backdoor, he ducked as the woman kicked out at him. "Jesus! Calm the fuck down!"

The Lieutenant joined him as the woman went into a wild frenzy, kicking and clawing and screaming at them in a strange language.

"What the hell is up with her?"

The Cajun frowned. "She's Muslim," he said, pointing to her headscarf, "that's a hijab she's wearing, but I don't understand her…must be Iranian, maybe?" The Lieutenant pointed to his eyes. "Hey, look here, honeychild," he cooed soothingly. "_Hl tfhm 'erby_?"

The woman stilled, blinking at him.

"Think she got the gist of that," the Lieutenant said. "_Rafik_," he went on, touching his chest.

"Are you really our friend?"

The two men turned, leaping clear of the door in case the woman decided to attack.

A young boy stood there, big brown eyes peering up at them, solemn and calm, despite the bloody gash to his forehead and the blood that streamed from his nose.

* * *

**The Voodoo Dialect**

**Bade** – Bade is the loa of the wind. He is the inseparable companion of the loa of lightening, Sogbo.

**Sogbo** – Sogbo is the god of lightning and the protector of flags. He is also the brother of the three-horned Bosu. Sogbo is always accompanied by his companion Bade, who is the loa of the winds. Those possessed by Sogbo throw polished stones down onto the ground, these stones are collected by followers and used as symbols of the loa. When the loa throws these stones to the ground during a lightning strike, they must lie there on the ground untouched for a year before a houngan (Voodoo Priest) may to touch them.

******____********************..-~-..**

**The Arabic Language (The Lieutenant was speaking Arabic because it's the universal language of the Middle East, though there are some who may not speak it, in the military, overseas he was bound to pick up enough Arabic to get by)  
**

**Hl tfhm 'erby** – Do you speak Arabic?

**Rafik** – Friend


	9. Adjasou

**You're all such wonderful reviewers! **

**Yes, Daryl and the Lt. are not in any shape to go anywhere, but they're stubborn and believe me there will be hell to pay. That's half the fun, isn't it? Here's a Merle chapter, BRAZEN *looking at you***

**So there was a thing done over on tumblr, a pretty little manip by Jack And Honey...it's very lovely, search the Caryl tag, you'll find it. Thanks for it, Jack And Honey, I think it's just aces! (Made my week!)**

* * *

**Chapter Nine: Adjasou**

****Merle****

They had been tracking his goddamned ass for six fucking days.

Six days they were twisting and turning in the woods surrounding the mall. Six days he had to put up with whiny negative remarks and Glenn's bitching. They had been going back to the convent at night to sleep, because the woods were thick with biters, for some reason they liked the cool, low lying area just south of the mall and they wandered up now and then at the scent of fresh food.

But the trails they were following, one lead to the water, a fucking deer trail and the other he found looped around and back to the mall. A biter's trail for all he fucking knew.

This trail, though, this one they were currently following, started in the south and went deep into the woods, where it curved east, then went back north, still in the deep heart of the woods.

There was something about the trail though. Something Merle didn't think made much sense.

"Was Rick injured?" He asked Glenn.

"I don't think so," the man replied. "Why?"

"There's drag marks, like someone was dragging their leg."

"Could have been Andrea," Sasha suggested.

"Could have been a lot of things," Merle snarled, heading through a bank of leafy underbrush where something had barrel assed its way through, keeping off the trail.

In all honesty Daryl had the patience for tracking, Merle could do it if he wanted, but he wasn't as capable as his baby brother. Not that anyone needed to know that. If it had been Daryl and these woods, he would have found Rick within hours.

Of course, it didn't help that Merle had a gaggle of whiny assed bitches with him.

"What the fuck it that?" Sasha demanded as they emerged on the other side of the underbrush.

Merle struggled to see what she was pointing as and moved one step to his right to peer around a tree at a hanging corpse, strung up in the trees, a sign dangling almost merrily from its feet, swaying in the wind.

"Minefield beyond this point?" Glenn read.

Eyeing the woods around them, Merle squinted in the direction of a sunny meadow beyond the corpse and sign. The trail seemed to have disappeared beyond the underbrush, lost in a toss-up of leaves, like there had been a scrap or something.

Spying a piece of white among the sea of autumn colours of the forest floor, Merle headed towards it, foot cracking a branch beneath him, the forest floor giving a little under it.

He froze and removed his foot, peering down, before he squatted, brushing leaves off the tops of a bunch of twigs and branches that had been set over top a very deep pit.

"Mind your feet," he ordered Glenn who was approaching.

Carefully circumventing what he saw of the trap, Merle continued to head for the piece of white and scooped it up to examine it.

"Andrea had her leg in a cast, right?" He asked just to confirm his memory.

"Yeah, Herschel cast it as soon as we brought back the medical supplies from the base."

"Right, well, I think we're on her trail, at least."

"Tyreese was with her," Sasha said.

Tossing the piece of plaster at her, Merle stood up. "Well, all we know for now is that Andrea was here, but the trail heads off into that 'minefield' and I don't feel that confident with my tracking abilities to follow it step for step."

"So what do we do?" Glenn asked. "We can't just tiptoe through a minefield."

"Find a road, I guess." Merle glanced around. "There's always a road in."

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"What if they're not friendly? You saw that thing in the trees," Glenn argued.

"We ain't going to strut up to their door, numb-nuts," Merle replied. "But if they took our people, don't you want to know? I mean, you were in their place once, how'd your experience go?"

"Wouldn't have been in their place if it wasn't for you, as I recall," Glenn replied archly.

"Bygones, little man," Merle muttered as they found a dirt road, heading north and south, just east through the thick trees. The road was desolate, almost encompassed by trees and grass and as soon as they hit it, they headed north towards the area they were trying to circumnavigate.

They had decided to hoof it, wanting to get the silent drop on whoever would have set up such heavy defences. Merle didn't like walking into what could possibly be another trap, but if he really wanted that wine the old nun promised.

That was his excuse for being a sucker for a pair of honest blue eyes and he was going to stick to it.

Taking the first left handed turn off the road down a dusty country drive, he pulled his pistol and kept it in hand just in case as they passed beneath towering oak trees with lacy Spanish moss hanging from their branches, Merle began to tense up. At the end of the drive they could see a picture perfect little old plantation style farmhouse, but what made him unnerved more than the multitude of ambush points they were walking into, was the live cattle that grazed in the fields, which he could spy between the trunks of the oaks.

He paused and shook his head.

"No," he muttered. He didn't like this. "Back up," he ordered the others quietly. "We don't want to be here."

Quickly taking the trail they had come in by, Merle didn't pause until they were clear of the tree lined drive, until they were in the woods on the opposite side of it, with good cover.

"Let's hope they're friendly," Glenn said as they cowered behind trees.

"You ever know someone who plants a minefield to be a nice guy?" Sasha inquired.

"We have to get in there somehow," Merle said.

Dropping her pack, Sasha undid her belt holster and dropped her pistol to the ground with the pack, fumbling for the bottom of her white shirt.

"What are you doing?" Merle demanded.

"I don't know, but if I die you can put crazy assed bitch on my tombstone," she explained, tearing off a decent sized piece of her shirt and tying it to a twig.

Merle watched with a little hesitation as she stepped out of the trees, weaponless, carrying only a twig with a piece of white material on it. He wasn't about to stop her, if she wanted to be a lunatic, then he'd at least be around to put a bullet in her walking corpse.

From the trees Glenn and Merle watched as Sasha made her way up the tree lined driveway, heading for the farmhouse slowly, the white flag held up high.

She made it about halfway up the drive, before a shot rang out.

For a moment Merle regretted letting her go as Sasha's spine shot up painfully straight, but he forgot his regret when the flag at the top of the twig broke and fell to the ground, half of the stick going with it.

Sasha high tailed her ass back towards them, skidding into the woods like Pete Rose.

"Well, that was my plan," she growled.

"That was a warning," Merle said. "Crack shot like that could have put a bullet between a gnat's eyes at a hundred paces. They don't want trouble." Slapping Sasha on the shoulder with a grin, Merle tilted his head deeper into the woods. "Come on, we'll find another way to get their attention."

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* * *

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"I feel like Wile E. Coyote," Glenn sighed.

"Nah," Merle said as they drew a diagram of their plan of action out on the forest floor, "more like Sylvester and Tweety Bird."

"Guys," Sasha said from her spot at watch.

"Yeah, well I don't want the old lady to catch me, okay?"

"Guys?!" Sasha snapped. "Head's up."

Pushing to their feet, Merle and Glenn spied a group of about four or five heading down the drive towards them, all of them heavily armed.

Just about to think of going for his gun, Tyreese poked his head out from around the ground and beamed. "Sasha!" He cried out.

The woman didn't hesitate. She dropped her weapon and raced for her brother.

The group with him tensed at her approach, but cleared a path for her to swoop up to Tyreese, throwing her arms around his neck and squealing.

The leader of the group approached them and stood boldly in the middle of the road, Merle assumed he was keeping in the range of his crack shot. He eyed the man's worn camo pants and the khaki shirt quietly, before stepping out of the woods.

"Throw down," the man ordered.

"We don't want trouble," Glenn said.

The man turned chocolate brown eyes on him. "Good, throw down."

Glenn did so immediately, Merle hesitated.

"Merle," Glenn snarled.

Hating to give in to a military prick, Merle sneered, before dropping his pistol.

The soldier boy eyed them. "How many more you of you stashed in those woods?"

"Just us," Glenn said.

Holding up his hand, the man displayed three fingers and gave a thumb's up, probably to his crack shot.

"You the leader of this group?" The man asked Glenn.

He shook his head. "No, our leader is—"

"Military," Merle interrupted before Glenn could let them know Rick was missing, it wouldn't do to let another group know they were vulnerable and weak. "Marine."

The soldier narrowed his eyes suspiciously at them. "From the Albany base?"

"Yeah."

Tilting his head, the soldier eyed him quietly. "What's his name?"

"Vancoughnett."

A brow quirked. "Cajun?"

"Yeah."

The man's face went from stoic, to deep interest in them, he eyed the others quickly. "Recon sniper?"

"Yeah, you know him?"

Shifting on his feet, the soldier bowed his head and seemed to think thoroughly before answering. "Yeah, I know the man. You go back to your people and bring him here, tell him Corporal Delgado wants to report in to his Sergeant, you can get your injured member then. Drive up this lane, you'd better be flying a blue flag over your vehicle or I swear my eye in the sky will punch your faces into your headrests with a bullet. And hey," he added before his people began backing away, "if more than five of you pile out of that vehicle when it stops, the extras will be dead weight, you feel me? Sergeant Hard-ass or not, we don't want this place crawling with your people."

Stopping beside Tyreese and Sasha the man said, "you can go back with your people if you want."

Tyreese nodded. "Thanks, man, but I'll stay until then."

"Tyreese—" Sasha began.

"It's okay, Sash, go back with them. I'm fine here." Tyreese said. "Haven't killed me yet, I'll see you later, okay?"

She nodded and carefully made her way back to Merle and Glenn's side.

"Blue flag, five or less," the man – Delgado – reminded them, before he started back with his people, boldly turning his back on them, knowing full well he had cover.

The three from the convent waited until it was safe, before scooping up their weapons.

"Fucking soldier," Merle snarled, spitting on the ground in spite.

**********____********************..-~-..**

* * *

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By the time they drove in to the convent it was almost sundown, the place was still and quiet, the way Merle liked it after a long day of humping earth.

Stepping out of the old blue diesel, he looked around to see what he could see, before heading off for the infirmary to get the Cajun. The sooner they got their people back the faster he could get drunk off his ass.

Carol approached him from the dorms, Annie at her heels, Judith in her arms.

"Any luck?" She asked.

Taking in her somewhat high strung look, Merle slowed, and then stopped, eyeing her. "Found Tyreese and Andrea, John Lee Pettimore has them down Copperhead Road."

"Are they in trouble?"

"I don't think so…the leader wants to meet up with the Cajun, think they just want to sniff us out. I'm pretty sure they're more scared of us then we should be of them. Going to hit up the Cajun now, see if he feels up to travelling."

"Good luck finding him," Carol said.

"What do you mean?"

"He and Daryl snuck out some time last night, they haven't been back yet, Michonne and Sister Joan are out looking for them now."

"Where's the nun?"

"She's on the wall."

Sighing heavily, Merle ran his hand over his face. "This is fucked, who was watching them?"

"They snuck out, Merle. It's no one's fault but their own," Carol stated. "Believe me, we're all just as upset as you, but you can't find a martyr to burn in this, it won't do anyone any good."

"I'm going to kick his ass when he gets back," Merle growled. "Little bastard's just getting over being shot in the gut and he's out wandering around? Little asshole."

Switching Judith to her one arm, Carol pulled Annie against her leg and covered her ear with her hand. "Well, just worry about resting up, I'll get Annie and Judith settled and then I'll bring you and the others some dinner."

"Hi, Mr. Merle!" Annie squawked.

"Hey, pipsqueak."

"You said three bad words," she pointed out.

"Get to bed you little possum," he snarled, "before I chase you up a tree."

Giggling, Annie followed Carol back into the dorms, as Merle marched off towards the infirmary. He didn't fucking need this shit and hassle after all the hoops he was jumping through for these fucking people.

"Vehicle!" Sister Mary Agnes shouted from the gate.

They were only supposed to shout when it was a vehicle that wasn't one of theirs.

Merle headed for the wall nearest him, leaping up onto it, eyeing the muted grey Grand Prix as it tore up the cattle trail, heading for the convent.

Shit, did the assholes from that group follow them? No, he was sure to keep his eye on their ass all the way home.

He reached for his pistol, prepared to defend the convent, as further down the wall Grace raised her rifle, peering down the sight to get a good look at the driver.

"It's Daryl!" She shouted, giving everyone the all clear.

Merle put his pistol back into the waistband of his pants and hopped off the wall, heading for the gate. He was going to wait until his baby bro was fully recovered then he was going to kick the shit out of him.

* * *

**The Voodoo Dialect**

**Adjasou** – The loa of spring water with protruding eyes and a bad humour. He's fond of rum, cognac and vermouth.


	10. Congo Savanne

**itsi3 - I'm excited for that meeting too!**

**HGRHfan35 - When you make assumptions it makes an ump out of...wait...**

**DarylDixon'sLover - Maybe...**

**Yazzy x - Yes but did you know Daffy Duck was Donald's long lost cousin? Stew on that one for a bit! Thanks for the review and all the others! ^_^**

**peonies01 - If you love Merle chapter's you'll love this one...I loved this one!**

**Merle's Right Hand - You're half right...next chapter should be more interesting once everything calms down.**

**MollyMayhem84 - Because if I kill her, I have no one to kill off later and will have to kill off someone we both like...do you want that to happen?**

**Jack And Honey - Hey, saw the new manip, loved it. You kill, slayer! Also, I'm so glad someone appreciated my nod to Steve Earle...I just figured 'you never come back from Copperhead Road' to be a poetic way to describe what happens at that group's farm. ^_^**

**Brazen Hussy - Hey, babes, guess who's featured pretty prominently in this chapter? You'll enjoy it!**

**Surplus Imagination - When Daryl's stronger he'll get a beat down, in the meantime enjoy Carl getting a beat down...of sorts.**

**amber24-03 - Thanks for the review! I hope you enjoy this chapter...might let you down...**

**Hey? See my cover art? Sure you do! Merle's Right Hand made it and she's lovely and I think she's kind of a killer when it comes to art and stuff. So...read her fic's and go to my profile page and follow the link to her art blog and enjoy some really lovely art! You're welcome in advance!**

* * *

**Chapter Ten: Congo Savanne**

****Carol****

They had tended to the beaten stranger first, Herschel and Mrs. Douglas stitching his face up, before they moved on to fixing the mess Daryl and the Lieutenant had done to themselves.

After putting Annie and Judith to bed, ensuring Carl was on the wall and Beth was watching over the children, Carol headed to the infirmary to offer her assistance, passing Grace who stood sullenly on the wall.

Unlike Carol, the woman was beyond livid, but it must have been her Catholic teachings that kept her on the wall, quietly calming down minute by minute.

Carol couldn't be angry, she didn't own Daryl. He was his own man. And while she may have been upset he had gone off in his condition, she had no right to think for a minute she had the right to be angry at him for leaving.

Of course that didn't mean she didn't want to yell and scream at him for doing something so dangerous in his condition, but she supposed a bit of that submissive housewife remained in her when it came to something like this.

Did no good yelling at him, he'd only yell back.

Smiling at the woman and young boy who huddled in a shadowy corner of the infirmary near the new man, Carol kept on with the water for the men.

The sisters had tried earlier to get the woman and boy inside the dorms for a meal, but they refused, remaining quiet and steadfast by the man, the woman's arm draped protectively around her son and they ate quietly, head's bowed.

At least Daryl and the Lieutenant had the forethought to look like dogs who had done something they knew would get them in trouble, the Lieutenant refusing to meet her eyes, Daryl watching her carefully, gauging her facial features, waiting for her to begin her tirade.

At his side Merle sat, looking very displeased with his brother, telling the Lieutenant about finding Andrea and Tyreese and the Marine who seemed to know him.

"Delgado?" The Lieutenant asked, toying with his thin hospital blanket, covering his torso as best he could. "Yeah, I know him. We're lucky, he's a good man."

"Yeah, well he wants to meet with you before he lets our people go."

"Hm, makes sense, wants to feel us out, establish an ally or something, always good to have friends."

"Unfortunately," Herschel broke in as Carol wearily set the pitcher of water down and poured each man a glass as the old man stitched the Lieutenant's shoulder over again. He looked mildly angered at having to redo them, having to waste the medical thread. "Unfortunately, you had enough excitement to last you a few more weeks in bed."

"But if it's to get out—"

"No more excuses," Herschel snarled.

Everyone in the infirmary stilled.

"Now, I have wasted enough time and medical thread on you two misfits and I'm not going to, now you stay in this bed, both of you or I'll strap your asses in myself."

Carol and Mrs. Douglas exchanged a look, before she turned and headed out again, following behind Merle who was storming off in typical Merle fashion.

Moving towards the wall where Grace was still stewing and with great difficulty mounted it without the aid of one of the many crates they had placed around the wall for that purpose.

Grace helped her up some, before the two women settled into gazing out at the woods around them.

"I was talking with Mr. Mamet earlier," Grace began. "He thinks it might be best if I sent a couple of the sisters in full garb to Woodbury on his next trip."

"Couldn't hurt for them to see you're not monsters." Carol replied.

"No, I sent Sister Joan out today and I worried the entire time, these women may not be under my leadership anymore, but they're my family and I won't risk sending them out again."

Carol looked over at her.

"I'll go in full habit," Grace stated. "And I want you to go with me in habit too."

"Are you sure we should deceive them like that?"

"Better to dress like a shepherd and lead the lambs to safety, then to remain a wolf and frighten them deeper into the hills. Besides," she added with a small grin, "it might be good for the both of us to get out from behind these walls for a bit."

"When homicide isn't an option, huh?" Carol teased.

Grace laughed softly. "I am so mad right now."

"I think I am too."

"Not as much though, are you?"

Carol scuffed her boot on the top of the wall. "Well, I've sort of come to expect this of Daryl, he's kind of like a wild animal, doesn't like to be chained."

"Very poetic, but too forgiving of you."

"Says the ex-nun?" Carol inquired.

"Call it my merciless side coming out in the wake of my sins."

"I'll go with you," Carol said finally, after a moment. "We'll need someone to watch Judith though."

The two women cast a glance in the direction of Carl who was sitting sullenly on the east wall, gazing into the darkness.

"He won't go anywhere," Grace replied.

"Why?"

"I snuck into his room and took his spare ammo out of his pack."

"Grace!"

The woman covered a smile politely. "I know…I feel awful."

"No," Carol said, "you don't."

"A little," Grace admitted. "Truth is," she added after a moment, "I don't think that boy is as brave as he likes people to think."

"He's just young," Carol said, defending Carl. "He's been through a lot."

"Haven't we all?"

They stood on the wall for a moment longer in silence, before Grace sighed.

"So what do you think? Should I go into that infirmary and welcome them back or should I slap his face?" She asked.

"Turn the other cheek," Carol suggested with a soft smile.

"And then slap that one too? Sounds like a plan," Grace replied.

Carol chuckled, turning her eyes over the landscape as they stood on the wall, half behind the trees, but still with a good view down the cattle trail.

"Grace, raise your rifle, what is that down there? Walker?" She asked.

The woman raised her weapon, looking down the sight. "I can't tell, it's so dark, better give the others a head's up."

Nodding, Carol hurried off down the wall, heading to warn the others, when Grace called after her.

"It's Rick!"

Peering into the darkness of the late evening, Carol struggled to make out the man as he approached the gate. She hurried along the wall, heading up to meet him.

Merle hurried over to the gate from where he was seated on the back of a truck sharpening his blade, reaching it as Rick stepped in, brushing past Sister Mary Claire.

Carol hopped down from the wall, noticing Rick had something in each hand, but unable to make them out in the dark.

"Where the hell have you been?" Merle demanded.

Rick tossed whatever he had been holding in his left hand down onto the ground, it rolled for a ways and came to a stop at Carol's feet.

"Hunting," the man growled lowly, pushing past Merle, heading for the church, his right hand wrapped around what looked like a lawn mower blade.

Staring down in disbelief at the head of a man, Carol touched a hand to her collar, over the wooden rose.

"Is that the Governor?" Carl asked from across the gory decapitated head with a little too much interest.

Looking up, Carol's eyes sought out Merle, who was standing angled like he wanted to follow Rick, but remaining unsure about it.

"The people from Woodbury shouldn't see this," she said to him quietly.

"I'm on it," he growled, reaching down and scooping up the head.

Gazing after Rick, Carol debated going after him, but Carl scurried off in the same direction as his father and she decided against it for the moment.

"Is he bit?" Sister Mary Claire asked and suddenly Carol was reminded that that was a very real possibility.

"No," Grace said from the wall where she had joined them, eyeing Merle as he exited the convent grounds with the head. "Rick wouldn't come back if he was going to run a risk of harming us."

Still, once Mary Claire turned to give Merle come coverage outside the gate, Grace subtly motioned for Carol to follow Rick.

She did, heading for the church.

Stepping inside quietly, she found Carl sitting in the back, eyes on his father who sat in a pew somewhere near the front of the church.

Carefully she approached, offering a small smile to Carl who blinked sullenly back at her.

Reaching the front, she eyed Rick who sat with his hands in his lap, the bloody, disgusting blade across his knees.

He was trembling and looked pale, worse than he looked at the prison, shaken, half mad maybe, broken possibly.

Slipping into a spot at his side, Carol looked him over for bite marks or any other wound that would cause them serious problems later on.

She opened her mouth to speak, but he cut her off quickly.

"I'm fine." He growled.

"I'm glad."

Moving in closer to him, she smiled grimly. "We were all worried about you."

"I killed them all," he confessed suddenly. "The Governor, he wasn't there, so I hunted him down."

Unnerved by the way he was shaking, Carol reached out to calm him, hands falling on his bloody ones.

He jerked away from her.

"If you're not a member of this group now, you die. No quarter given to anyone," he growled.

"Rick—"

"I killed them all, Carol, and I wanted to put their heads on pikes," he went on firmly. "I don't have mercy anymore," he tilted his head. "Killing's easier than talking."

"Rick—"

"There's new people here, dad," Carl broke in, standing in the aisle beside them calmly. "Daryl and the Lieutenant brought them back."

Carol eyed the young man, who stood so eerily calm with his hands in his pockets.

"We should execute them like we were going to do with Randall." He suggested casually. "Before we lose any more people."

For the first time Carol was really beginning to see the toll his mother's death had taken on Carl, he wasn't just cold and distant, but there was nothing left inside him, see could see how empty he was just by looking at his calm stance and his flat eyes.

Rick eyed Carl quietly, still trembling like a newborn fawn.

"New people?" He asked.

"We'll discuss it in the morning, Rick, after you've slept," Carol broke in, trying to diffuse a dangerous situation. "Carl, you should be on the wall, who's watching for you?"

Carl blinked at her. "I don't have to listen to you, Carol. You want the wall watched, watch it yourself."

"Get your ass on that wall before I knock you spinning on it," Merle growled, marching up the aisle, heading for them.

"Fuck off, Merle. I shouldn't have to listen to a one handed redneck loser," Carl replied.

Cuffing the boy hard upside the head, Merle snatched the boy's gun before he could go for it and dropping the clip out of it onto the floor, threw the piece as far as he could down the aisle, stooping down and pocketing the clip. "Get on that goddamned wall!" He ordered.

"That's my son," Rick argued, still too far gone to really do anything about it as Carl stalked down the red carpet, heading for his gun.

"Yeah, take him in hand then, little asshole's been marching around here bossing people around, threatening to leave with your baby girl while you're off wandering the countryside!" Merle shouted.

As much as she hated when he lost his temper, Carol had never been happier to have Merle with them as she was completely over her head with Rick and Carl. She moved to stand beside him, wrapping her arms around herself. It was odd to her how in that moment she felt safer beside Merle than anyone else present.

"Rick, maybe you should go for a nap, I'll start heating you some water for a bath, you can wash that blood and gunk off you," Carol suggested.

"I don't need sleep," Rick argued.

"Get some rest, Officer Friendly, it'll do you good," Merle suggested.

"He's right, Rick, please? You're just exhausted, it won't do you any good to get sick on us," Carol urged, moving forward to carefully drag the lawn mower blade off his lap, not missing his hand which looked like he had sliced it open on the thing.

Handing the blade to Merle, Carol moved in cautiously and finding Rick a little more docile then he was before, she wrapped her arms around him carefully.

He was a big, strong man, but in her arms he felt delicate, breakable and she held him tighter as a shiver ran through him.

"Come on," she whispered. "Let's get you to bed, Rick."

Looking over and up at her, then Merle, Rick repeated, "I killed them all."

Carol didn't know how to help him and it ruined her, she didn't want him to see her cry, so she remained silent lest a sob escape her open mouth.

It was Merle who replied to him, with a shockingly gentle, "you did good, Rick. You earned a rest."

Looking over her shoulder at Merle, Carol found she was seeing him for the first time. How far he'd come before her very eyes, she didn't even see him growing, but she understand then why she felt safe with him.

Feeling tears coming, Carol buried her face in Rick's neck, recovering herself before pulling back with a smile. "Come on. Come get some sleep, Rick. Everything will better in the morning."

Slowly he rose with her and Carol finally managed to lead Rick out of the church and into the dorms, Merle close behind her.

Settling Rick into a bed, Carol backed out of his room and covered her mouth, finally allowing herself to cry for him. He was such a nice man, one of the decent ones and he had fallen so far and so fast.

Beside her Merle stood awkwardly as she wept, still holding on to the lawn mower blade with a grimace on his face.

"It'll be okay, little sister," he rasped.

Sniffling back her tears, Carol nodded, offering him a weak smile, reaching out to grasp his upper arm companionably.

"I'll watch over Officer Friendly tonight," he assured her.

Carol eyed him for a moment, before moving in to wrap her arms around his waist.

His body went completely rigid and he remained that way until she released him.

"Thank you, Merle."

He flinched. "Whatever. Get the fuck out of my sight, take this thing with you."

Taking the lawn mower blade, she offered him another small smile, before leaving, heading for Grace on the wall to get her up-to-speed.

* * *

**The Voodoo Dialect**

**Congo Savanne** – Not much is known of this violent, temperamental loa, but what is known is that he is a fierce and strong force. Savanne eats people. He grinds them up as we would grind up corn. He often appears in the skin of a white man and he is a loa not to be messed with.


	11. Erzulie Jan Petro

**I'm going to start putting the replies to reviews at the bottom, kids. That cool with everyone...it clutters up the top and I don't want to be that asshole.**

**Hey, thanks for the reviews and those of you who don't review but enjoy the story, you're cool cats, babies. All of you!**

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**Chapter Eleven: Erzulie Jan Petro**

****Milton****

They would need more candles soon.

Eyeing the sputtering, popping votive that flickered on the two-by-four ledge bracer of the interior of the shack, Milton Mamet pondered whether they could keep bees somewhere on the lawns if only for the wax to make new candles.

Though he wasn't quite sure what made the best wick. Cotton perhaps.

Putting down the psychology book he had been reading, he arched his back, trying to pop it back into working condition. The book wasn't great, but it was the only one the small town library had on the subject.

It was better than nothing.

Slipping his legs over the cot, he stood up. Nothing helped the thought process better than a midnight stroll. Maybe he'd pop over to visit his lady friend, check on her decay progress.

He had been timing the decay process for the infected without food to eat, hoping that there may be a light at the end of the tunnel. If they could starve, then the epidemic would be over quicker, there would still be stragglers, late comers to the world of the walking dead, but if they eventually starved, it meant soon all traces of the en masse would be gone.

Wandering through the dark of the convent yard, he pondered the placement of a few key structures that could be place to make better use of the grounds.

"Solar panels," he stopped suddenly, searching the area around him for a good spot, before his eyes landed on the steeple of the church. "Wind turbine…at least for the water pump…we could have running water from the wells, pumped by wind power. No more outhouse…we could save time with bathing too…install some communal showers…no too frivolous, maybe…but it would boost morale…we need more entertainment."

"You want me to sing and dance?"

Stopping his journey, he peered about, finding Karen tucked into a shadowy area of the side of the dorms.

"Karen," he greeted quietly. "I didn't see you there."

"Yeah, feel invisible these days, but better than the alternative," she hooked her arm with his boldly. "Where we going?"

Thrown by her bold move, but too much of a gentleman to shake her off, he tilted his head towards the east wall. "I have a lady friend I want to visit."

"Really?" Karen asked eyeing him.

"She's infected."

Her eyebrows rose.

"She's already turned. I have her tied to a tree."

"Jesus, you sure know how to treat a lady, Milton."

"I…what?"

"That was a joke. So why the biter?"

"Research," he replied.

"Oh."

"I'm thinking of furthering my study into their pack habits." He said.

"Pack habits?"

"They cluster together, move as one if there's more than two in a group, why? Animal instinct, perhaps. I'm thinking on a base level they're still connected to their animal instinct, if we can predict their migratory patterns—"

"Migratory patterns?"

"I believe they change location with the weather, they move around more in cooler areas, in rain, however, they slowed down in the winter. But I believe this has more to do with frozen joints, due to reduced blood circulation in their extremities, however I can't be sure without…" he trailed off watching her look around. "I'm boring you, I apologize."

"It's okay, Milton, I'm used to it." Clamping her hand on his upper arm as they walked, she nodded in the direction of Michonne walking the wall.

"What do you think of these people, Milton? What's the skinny on them?" She asked him.

"Skinny?" He furrowed his brow. "Oh…you want information." He adjusted his glasses and eyed the convent around them. "Uh, well, they're made up in part of the prison group the Governor waged war on and nuns from the convent, with the exception of a few others who wandered in…I believe Tyreese and his sister, uh, the Lieutenant is military, obviously, the little girl, Annie, others maybe."

"I meant are they good people? Can we trust them?"

"Seems as good as any," he replied. "But then again I thought the Governor was a good man…I may be a terrible judge of character."

"So, who is the leader around here? Do we need to worry about them?"

"That's a good question," Milton looked about as though he might find the answer. "I know Rick is the leader of the prison group, but I don't know if he's in charge here."

"What about that soldier? Vancoughnett?"

"I don't think so," Milton said as they reached the wall. "Think he's fonder of following orders than giving them."

"But he's a Lieutenant. He's used to them, isn't he?"

"One would hope."

"What about the scruffy one?"

"Merle's brother? I don't think so either, he's…too wild." Unwinding his arm from hers, Milton eyed the wall, before hopping up onto a nearby crate and lunging at it. He flushed when he felt a hand pushing up his foot and scrambled onto the top of the wall.

Karen followed him up quietly and sat at his side.

"Where is she?" He demanded.

Feeling a sinking emotion in his gut, Milton half sulked, half huffed. "I needed her. She was part of my research on decay."

"Maybe her ropes loosened?"

"This is utterly disappointing," he murmured.

"Milton?" Karen demanded softly.

"Poor thing, she's out there rotting away and not being any use to the scientific world. It's a waste of…I captured her myself, felt a little responsible."

"Milton?"

He frowned and looked over at her. "What?"

"Are we safe here?"

"I'd say so, yes."

"Because I'm beginning to think they're keeping something from us."

"Oh?"

"Where their men went when Merle came with the others to Woodbury. Why our men didn't return, something is not adding up."

Milton swallowed thickly. He'd never been a good liar. "I'm sure you're just scared, Karen."

"Every day we return to Woodbury there are less and less people, how long do we fuck around with diplomacy before there's no one left to extend it to? They're our people, Milton, yours and mine, now what is going on around here?"

"Well, aside from the theft of my research subject, nothing, Karen. I think you're just getting tense and a little nervous."

"If you're lying to me—"

"The only time I'd ever lie to you is if I were trying to keep you safe, Karen," he explained calmly. "They're my people too, you and Noah are my people and I do care."

She narrowed her eyes at him.

Milton cleared his throat. "You know…you're lumped in with the others, is what I meant."

"Swear to me that Noah is safe here with these people," she urged.

"I swear to you, nothing with harm you," he stated, adding quickly, "both."

They turned back to face the woods.

"I liked her," Milton sighed. "I had hopes for the research done with her."

"Well, maybe she hasn't gone far, after we head to Woodbury tomorrow morning we'll look for her."

"I'd appreciate that, Karen. Thank you."

She patted his back warmly. "I've got the time, Milton, and your research is always important if it means helping us, even a little."

Milton blinked at her. He didn't think anyone other than Philip had taken an interest in his work. He didn't think it mattered to anyone but himself.

"I had an idea earlier," he began almost nervously, searching her face to see if she would be interested to hear it.

She blinked her brown eyes at him, raising her brows slightly in curiosity.

He took that as a sign. "If we could hook a wind turbine to the steeple of the church, we could generate enough power to maybe run a water pump. We might be able to pump water from the wells for the convent bathrooms to run, maybe some lights at night."

Karen beamed at him. "Running water sounds so luscious right now."

Milton returned the smile. "I'd need to study up on wind turbine power, but I think the steeple is high enough that it would work."

"I could sit here all night," Karen mused.

Milton nodded.

"But Father O'Rourke asked me to sit in on the infirmary watch tonight," she explained, pushing to her feet.

Milton scrambled to stand on the wall too. "I could help you. I need to get my mind off my research for a bit, anyways."

"Okay, I could use the company. Besides, I want to get a good look at these people, can't say I'm not nosey," she exclaimed, hopping off the wall before he could offer her a hand down.

Standing with his hand in mid-air, Milton quickly dropped it and followed her, less spryly to the ground.

Just as they started for the infirmary, Sister Joan emerged.

"Do you mind watching, he's awake and Grace wanted to be informed when he came to," she greeted them.

"Not at all," Karen said. "Does he seem mad?"

"More…how do I put this in a Christian manner? He's kind of an arrogant sort, rubbed me the wrong way," the woman muttered, moving off towards the gate where Carol and Grace had taken up a joint watch.

Stepping the infirmary, Milton allowed his eyes to adjust to the dim, candlelit interior.

On their cots, Daryl and the Lieutenant were both awake and aware of the man struggling to sit up in his own bed.

In the fourth bed nearest the door the woman and her child huddled quietly, looking like they had been roused from sleep as well.

"You in charge around here?" The man demanded calmly, patting himself down before pulling out a pack of rumpled cigarettes. His face looked like hell and under any other circumstances Milton would gladly let him smoke downwind from him, but he really was worried about fire in the infirmary.

Both Karen and Milton shook their heads.

"You shouldn't smoke in here," Milton finally worked up the courage to point out. "There are oxygen tanks in the next room."

Eyeing him, the stranger quirked a brow, before shaking a cigarette out and lighting it with a nearby candle, he tucked it into his mouth and let it dangle. "Come take it from me, Darwin."

Milton frowned.

"That's what I thought, evolution of man, I'm bigger than you."

"Put it out," the Lieutenant suggested.

Looking the soldier up and down, the man shrugged, before looking past him to Daryl. "You smoke, Shaggy?"

"Put it out," Daryl snarled.

Inhaling deeply, the man sighed. "Well, since you two seem tied up at the moment, looks like unless Darwin makes me, I get to do what I want."

"How about I make you?" Karen inquired.

"Alright," he sighed, taking one last deep inhale, before knocking the cherry off the end of the cigarette and stamping the little ball of flaming orange ash with his calloused thumb on the side table. "Since I'm scared of you," he replied with a small smile. "Scariest one in the damned room…" he trailed off.

"Sir," Grace entered with the mien of a Queen, heading straight for his bedside, Carol close behind her. "Good to see you're finally with us."

"Well, good Lord, aren't you a pretty little thing."

"Small I may be, sir, but I'm also a lady," Grace returned brusquely.

The man beamed. "Of course, my apologies."

"My name is Grace Harper and this is my convent you're recovering in."

"Looks like a clinic of some kind," he returned.

"This is our infirmary and that would be where you'd introduce yourself as a gentleman would," Grace stated.

The man beamed at her, split lip breaking open again. "Who I am depends entirely on who you are."

"I told you—"

"No, your people, I mean. I can be one of many things, sweetheart, one of them being charitable but only for friends."

Milton could see Grace wasn't at all afraid of the man as she clasped her hands before her, rifle on her back.

"Well, charity is a true kindness of man, sir." Grace replied. "And if you won't give me a name, I feel the need to name you myself, I suppose in that way you'd be like a dog."

"Convent, you say?" He eluded her comments and questions smoothly. "How interesting. I'm assuming you're all nuns and such?"

"Some of us, yes." She replied.

The man eyed her, then Carol, then Karen at the door. "Well, that is a shame."

Milton could see the men on the beds tensing and understood their concern. The man was too interested in the women.

"So, you're the head of state around these parts? That is very interesting, where I'm from not many women lead."

"That's too bad. I've been given to understand women can be fully capable of leading."

The man smirked. "You can lead me anytime, precious."

Turning his head, the man eyed the woman and child quietly, calmly, reaching for the cigarette he just put out and tucking it in between his lips. "You treat them nicely?" He asked, cigarette bouncing.

"They've been fed and we offered them a bed to sleep in, but they refused to leave your side, sir."

"Refused to…well isn't that adorable," he murmured.

"They show deep loyalty to you, sir."

"No, they don't. They follow me because I keep them safe and feed them. Loyalty is something I don't have the privilege of possessing from them." He motioned to his smoke. "Mind if I?"

"I'd rather you didn't."

"Tell you what, precious, you give me one smoke and I'll give you one name, sound good?"

Grace nodded slightly and the man lit his cigarette almost gleefully.

Milton didn't miss the subtle ashing the man did in the direction of the Lieutenant and Daryl.

"Cash," he said, exhaling.

"Well, Mr. Cash, as our guest, we'll give you medical care, food and safety and at the end of it all when you feel better you may choose to leave or stay. From what I heard, you don't seem to have people who'd do you any good."

"Where's Madonna?" He asked suddenly.

Grace furrowed her brow.

"My car? Where's my lady?"

"That piece of junk is a scrap heap sitting on the highway," Daryl snarled.

"You best watch your tone when you talk about my lady, Shaggy," the man growled darkly.

"You're lucky your dumb assed driving didn't get you killed in that rust bucket," Daryl stated.

"You're lucky I'm chained to this bed, asshole, I'd come over there and kick your commie ass for insulting her," the man returned. "Donna's never had rust," he muttered.

"Will you promise us you'll be kind towards our people, Mr. Cash?" Grace asked, breaking up the fight fluidly.

"I have no interest in making more enemies, precious."

"Seems odd, considering the shitty attitude you woke up with," the Lieutenant broke in calmly.

Milton felt the Arctic chill in his tone and tensed.

"Got something you want to say, Pretty Boy? Speak up," Cash said.

"I've said my piece."

Narrowing his eyes, Cash exhaled. "What are you, retarded or something?"

"I'm Cajun."

"So…half retarded then? Fair enough, Pretty Boy."

Everyone paused, waiting to see if the Lieutenant would take the man's bait.

When the soldier seemed content to ignore the man, Daryl was the one to get his ire up.

"Hey, fuck-hole, why don't you shut your dirty assed mouth before I come over there and slam my foot in it?" He shouted.

"What are you, his redneck lover? I heard all the military boys are as bent as boomerangs…"

"That is enough!" Grace commanded, silencing the entire room with her normally sweet, polite voice ringing off the walls. "Mr. Cash, you are a guest here and may I suggest acting a little more civil towards our people. Especially the men who saved you from those who would do you grave harm."

The man eyed her calmly, before tilting his head. "I apologize, precious. I tend to rile the masses, suppose that's a flaw I should work on. I'll tell you what, let me smoke at my leisure while I'm laid up and I'll be gentle as a lamb."

Grace smiled. "That sounds like a fair deal, Mr. Cash. Break it and I'll let the Lieutenant break your jaw, I'm sure he's planning it anyways."

Beaming up at her, the man eased back in the bed, flopping against his pillows. "You are a pretty little she-wolf, aren't you? I like that in a woman."

"I'm a fair woman, Mr. Cash, but I dislike men who go back on their word. Do I have your word to be nice?"

He nodded. "I'll be sweet as a puppy."

Milton wondered how long that would last. The man seemed like he enjoyed picking fights. God help them all if Merle's opposing force met with the new man's conflicting nature.

* * *

**The Voodoo Dialect**

**Erzulie Jan Petro** – Erzulie Jan Petro is a violent sea spirit loa. Jan Petro is called upon to take responsibility for the temple where spells are on display; although she is a neutral entity, when not called upon it is the duty of the devotees to make them behave peacefully or violently, depending on their motivation for dealing with the spirits. Jan Petro as a protector of temples is very powerful. Due to being a sea spirit, Jan Petro likes fresh air and water. She likes perfume and lotion-any temple dedicated to her usually smells like lotion, for it is thrown on those things she possesses.

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**DarylDixon'sLover - Thank you!**

**Ms Q - Some things are best left in the dark, huh?**

**peonies01 - I'm glad you agree with me on the Carol thing. I don't think she'd be out rightly cruel to him, she'd probably wait for a good time to settle things with him quietly and calmly.**

**Whooptiedoo - I just want to hug Rick. I say it all the time, but it's true. He's like a lanky, scruffy teddy bear.**

**Jack And Honey - I agree. I'm hoping Merle comes into his own more through all this junk that's happening. I'd like to see him give some help to Carl...after they've both finished hating each other with a white hot rage.**

**Yazzy x - Poor Rick, he needs someone to talk to, I think.**

**Merle's Right Hand - If you were on the show you would have laid the smack down on him by now...and that's why I love you.**

**Brazen Hussy - Carl hate fuels me. ^_^**

**songbird1313 - He. Killed. Them. All. *intense Rick face* ^_^**

**HGRHfan35 - Yeah, I think that's the slope Carl is headed down. He's becoming too cold and detached to things.**

**itsi3 - I agree with all those worries. Carol is such a lovely character to lose.**

**amber24-03 - Trust me, this story is only just beginning there may be more heat and passion then you'd expect.**

**Tigerlily xoxo - Shit happens. (Love crazy Rick) ^_^**

**Axelrocks - Yeah, I think Rick is too busy being a leader, he's neglecting being a father...**

**Supfan - Cripes, I hope things are going to get better for you. It's probably not much, but I enjoy your reviews and think you're a lovely person. ^_^**

**SilverWolf84 - I need more girl talk in this story...I feel a lack of girl talk.**

**GG - I think Grace's anger is more over him being out when he's not 100%, I feel like she's made peace with him going beyond the walls...just not with broken ribs and stitches everywhere.**


	12. Marinette-Bwa-Chech

**Chapter Twelve: Marinette-Bwa-Chech**

****Carol****

"Are you sure you're okay with everything?" She asked Merle one last time as Grace adjusted the wimple.

The morning had some slowly, the sun taking it's time to peek over the trees that gave them cover on the east side and Carol was being fitted in one of Sister Gertrude's old habits in the storage shed.

Daryl's brother scoffed. "I've got everything locked down here. I put Father O'Rourke on the new guy, he's good with assholes, plus I'm sure Daryl and the Lieutenant will jump in if needed. Sister Mary Elizabeth is watching over Rick, Glenn's taking over while I head out to hunt up some food and I'm sober as ever, unfortunately. What about you two?"

"Michonne's going with us, Karen and Milton too, we should be fine," she replied. "And if you could manage to keep Sasha calm about the other group for now, we'll figure something out when we get back. We shouldn't be too long."

"When Rick wakes up," Grace added, "you should move him into the infirmary with Daryl and the Lieutenant, might raise his spirits a little to be with the men and not on his own."

"But stay away from the infirmary, Merle," Carol said. "I don't think you going off on that Cash fellow is a good idea right now."

"Jesus, you two seem to think you run the show around here," Merle growled.

"We do for now, but you will when we leave, Merle," Grace stated.

"Awful lot of trust to put on me," he returned.

Carol offered him a small smile as Grace placed the veil on her head. "I wouldn't trust anyone else to watch over things at this point," she pointed out, reaching over to pluck the strand of rosary beads off a nearby table.

"And if someone could convince that woman and her son to leave the infirmary, we might be able to settle them comfortably somewhere inside the dorms."

"Anything else?" Merle inquired sarcastically.

"Be nice to the new man if you cross paths, remember to be Christian."

"Yeah," Merle replied scratching at his chin, "his woman's Muslim though, isn't she?"

"Still does no harm to be kind, Merle."

"We're not entirely sure she is his wife," Carol pointed out.

Merle scowled. "Well, whatever, I'm going hunting now."

"Be careful," Grace added.

"Gee, really?"

The two women exchanged a glance as the man marched out.

"Maybe I should stay behind," Carol said.

"No, I don't want anyone by my side but you," Grace insisted. "Call it me being selfish, but I trust you to look after me if something goes wrong."

Carol smiled at the woman. "I'm honoured."

Grace stepped back with a gentle grin. "You look the part, Carol. I think that's good."

Touching the wimple's collar, Carol laughed softly. "I should wander into the infirmary in this. It'd give Daryl the fright of his life."

Grace giggled. "Oh, you should, it would make my day."

"Could you imagine his poor face?" Carol returned with a wry smile.

The two women laughed.

"Oh, good Lord," Grace sighed. "I have to get dressed. Let me do that and we'll go together to say goodbye."

"You shouldn't torture the Lieutenant with seeing you in the habit," Carol scolded lightly. "Poor man."

"Poor man my eye," Grace replied on her way out. "After the stunt he pulled he should be so lucky I'm saying goodbye before leaving…"

Left alone, Carol adjusted the rosary and fought the urge to tug at the tight white wimple that hugged her face.

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She wondered how Grace made the habit so majestic, watching as the woman strolled across the lawns to join her by the infirmary.

Carol felt ridiculous in the nun's habit, but Grace made it look elegant and classy.

Father O'Rourke had passed her earlier with a small grin and she had bowed her head, feeling like she was putting on some kind of farce, mocking the religion.

"…comes in colours pink and pleasant, glows in the dark 'cuz it's iridescent. Take it with you when you travel far."

For the entire ten minutes Carol was outside the infirmary waiting the new man had been softly singing the same tune to himself, or maybe to the child with the woman, either way it unnerved her, he unnerved her. There was something about him she wasn't sure if she didn't like or didn't trust. The man was too much of a contradiction and much too arrogant in the presence of strangers.

"Get yourself a sweet Madonna, dressed in rhinestones, sitting on a pedestal of abalone shell. Going ninety, ah, ain't scary, 'cuz I got the Virgin Mary assuring me that I won't go to hell."

As Grace approached, she smiled at Carol. "You look almost too convincing in the habit."

Carol blushed. "I don't like the idea of deception like this," she admitted.

"Well, I'll feel bad about it once we make this peace agreement and can take in the poor survivors of Woodbury."

Stepping into the infirmary, Cash stopped singing long enough to greet them.

"Sisters," he said, almost awkwardly. "I…didn't actually…huh."

"Do you have everything you need, Mr. Cash?" Grace asked, pausing at his bedside long enough to ensure he was set up before they left.

"If I had everything I needed, precious, I wouldn't be lying here like a bump on a log," he replied smoothly.

"I'm sure you got everything you had coming to you, Mr. Cash," she replied.

Carol smirked at the man's reaction, it was like a little boy with his hand slapped.

"And then some," he returned with a somewhat forced grin. "Of course, what's life if you can't get your nose broken once in a while? Actually," the man said, motioning to the woman and child at his bedside, "if you want to throw these two into a bed somewhere else? They should get some proper sleep. It's been a while for them."

"It's been a while for you too, I'd imagine," Carol broke in softly.

The man turned greenish eyes on her, before smirking. "Well, that one talks, huh? What's your name, bright eyes?"

"Carol."

"Carol," he repeated, "very pretty, almost like a flower."

"Hey," Daryl snarled from his bed. "You don't talk to her, slick."

Glancing over in the direction of the men, Carol found both the Lieutenant and Daryl looking upon the new man with venom in their eyes. Daryl she expected, but the Lieutenant's reaction was interesting. He normally got along with everyone.

Smiling politely to the man in the bed, Carol moved away, heading for Daryl's bedside, where she eased down beside him.

"We'll get your people a decent bed, if they'll be willing to go with us," Grace went on, speaking softly and patiently with the man.

"Nadir?" The man crooked his finger, drawing the boy over. "You take your mama and get some sleep, these people are alright."

"Cash, I don't—"

"No arguing," he insisted.

Carol felt Daryl's hand on her back, tentative, he still expected her to be mad, and she was, just not as mad she should have been.

"You're going to leave us behind," the boy stated.

"I would never!" The man stated.

"You're lying," the boy said.

Cash chuckled. "Alright, I swear if you get some rest I'll at least stay long enough to say goodbye."

"You're lying," the boy insisted.

"Are you so convinced I such a liar, son?" Cash asked.

"Yes."

"Smart boy, but your mama needs her rest."

The boy blinked at him, before speaking to his mother.

She looked panicked for a moment, before nodding.

"Okay," Nadir said. "We'll sleep."

"That's a boy. And get your mother some water she looks pale."

"It's because she's worried about you, Cash."

"Aw, that's sweet. Tell her I still find her awkward and embarrassing."

"You lie," the boy stated.

"Well, don't want to encourage her," Cash replied with a half-smile.

Nadir smiled.

"Come along," Grace said with a grin. "We'll get you settled, sweetie."

The young boy nodded, before speaking to his mother.

The woman eyed Cash quietly, holding a bag clutched to her chest, before she reluctantly followed Grace out.

"You care for them?" Carol asked.

"Not a bit," the man replied casually, sniffing and lighting up another cigarette.

"You must," she insisted.

Inhaling deeply, the man eyed her, blond hair falling into his eyes. "I'm only travelling with them, because I can't pawn them off on someone else, why you do think I'm being so amiable to you lot?"

"Is amiable English for being a dick?" The Lieutenant broke in. "Because I might have missed that in school."

"Well, you are Cajun, so I'm going to forgive the fact you can't comprehend simple words and phrases," the man said.

"You know the Lieutenant saved your life," Carol broke in softly.

"Sister, I've never asked anyone for anything in my life, except to take those two off my hands and I'm not about to go kowtowing to someone for doing something I didn't ask them to do." The man returned sharply.

"Wait," the Lieutenant broke in. "Your name is Cash and you're from Arkansas?"

"So?" The man snarled.

Carol saw a twitch tug at the Lieutenant's mouth.

"What's your first name, _capon_?"

"Don't have one."

"Are you sure?"

She didn't fully understand what was so interesting, so she spoke up. "Do you know him, Lieutenant?"

"Sure," he said with a smirk, "'cept I thought The Man in Black, was dead."

Daryl scoffed suddenly.

Grabbing the curtain, Cash pulled it across, cutting himself off from the rest of them.

"Fuck him," the Lieutenant growled, his smooth baritone dark, turning to Carol on Daryl's bed. "What's with the habit, _ange_?"

"I signed up," she teased with a small grin.

"If you could see your man's face right now," the Lieutenant replied with a grin.

Carol gave Daryl a small smile. "We're on a mission of mercy."

"Going outside the walls?" Daryl asked.

"Yes, Woodbury. Milton thinks we might better convince them if they knew we actually come from a convent."

"Pretty sneaky of you," Daryl replied.

"I think so too, but like Grace said 'we'll worry about deception after they're safe with us'."

Pondering this, the Lieutenant sighed and asked, "who are you taking?"

"Michonne, Karen and Milton."

"When are you gonna be back?" Daryl broke in.

"When we get back," she replied.

Chuckling, the Lieutenant stretched his long legs, resting the backs of his ankles on the bar at the end of his bed, the chains they had attached to them rattling. This time Grace was careful to lock him to the solid heavy bar instead of the flimsy middle ones and she was not happy about the bed.

"You keep alert out there," the Lieutenant said kindly. "Watch your ass."

She nodded. "I don't take foolish risks."

The Cajun laughed. "Think she's alluding to our adventures, _cabri_?"

"Still mad?" Daryl asked, almost cautiously.

Carol blinked at him. "I don't think I'm the one you two have to worry about."

"Ah, yes, my girl," the Lieutenant mused. "She is a spitfire, isn't she?" He rattled his chains again almost musically. "Think this time she meant business."

"Think this time I should have gagged you as well," Grace stated moving around the curtain.

"I have but one regret about doing what we did, baby girl," the Lieutenant drawled. "And it's lying in the cot next door to me."

"This curtain isn't soundproof, you know," the man stated darkly.

"Shut your mouth, Lulu," the Cajun shot back firmly. "I'm going to wait until he's asleep then I'm holding a pillow over his face," he mumbled softly.

"I got your back on that one, brother," Daryl stated.

Easing onto Daryl's bed beside Carol, Grace sighed, setting her rifle butt on the ground and holding it. "Try to be kind, boys, we could use allies instead of enemies."

"Honeychild, if he would have been at least decent enough when he came to, I may have considered it, but all bets are off once he calls the Cajun people retarded. That's not even a PC term and I find that offensive most of all."

Carol exchanged a smile with Daryl who snorted.

"Some people think chivalry shouldn't have died out with them knights and ladies fair," he went on. "A little gratitude isn't a death sentence."

"You go outside these walls, you be careful," Daryl warned, moving the conversation on. "Both of you."

"We'll be fine," Carol said. "Woodbury's secure."

"Famous last words these days," the Lieutenant said. "Seems there's always something going wrong," he turned his eyes on Grace, they were serious and calm. "You take my pack with you, _cher_. Use whatever you need in it to stay alive and safe if you have to."

"I'm not carrying that thing around with me," Grace argued. "It weighs about a hundred pounds and it'll drag me down more than it'll help me."

"It's only twenty," he replied. "And it'll give me peace of mind to know you have it with you in case things go south. Please?"

She nodded.

Carol felt a little relieved she was going to give him peace of mind, it wasn't a big deal, but if it made him feel better, then maybe it'd stop them from worrying too much.

"You wear it too, none of this leaving it in the truck, yeah?"

Grace nodded.

"Promise?"

"Of course, Lieutenant," she insisted firmly.

"That's my girl, thinking smart," he cooed with a smirk.

Feeling Daryl's fingertips curl against her lower back, Carol slipped her arm around behind her and sought them out, linking their hands together quietly. She paused when she felt something hard and cold being pressed against her hand. Releasing his hand, she found he was giving her the heavy duty combat knife the Lieutenant had lent him with his free arm. He must have had it stored under his pillow as was his habit.

She wrapped her fingers around it and the strap he had wrapped around it as well.

"We should get moving," Grace said, pushing to her feet. "The sooner we get there, the sooner we can get back."

Standing up as well, Carol hooked the knife to the belt at her hip with the clip the one a rosary currently dangled from, hiding it with the scapular, handing the leather belt it had come with back to Daryl quietly.

He nodded almost approvingly at her, a small smile touching the corner of his mouth.

Finding Grace preoccupied with the Lieutenant's puppy dog eyed pleading for a kiss goodbye, she caught Daryl's hand and pressing it to his chest, leaned down and kissed him gently goodbye as well, trapping their hands together between them.

"This get up nearly killed me," the Lieutenant said.

Pulling away from Daryl, Carol glanced over to find the Cajun had caught Grace by the veil and was tugging it almost playfully.

"Well, if you don't behave yourself you might have to get used to it," she returned archly.

The Lieutenant chuckled. "Let me ask you something I've always wondered about, _cher_."

Sensing he was about to dig himself into a deeper hole, Daryl interrupted. "You two best get going," he said gruffly.

Catching the Lieutenant's hand in her veil, Grace tucked it back to the man's side with a small twinkle in her eye.

"I guess it'll have to wait," he said.

Glancing back at Daryl one last time, she found him giving her an encouraging nod and a small smile. She waved to him, before smiling at the Lieutenant who was already looking to get into fresh trouble.

* * *

**The Voodoo Dialect**

**Marinette-Bwa-Chech** – Her name means "Marinette of the dry arms." She is considered to be an evil spirit, a she-devil; the sworn servant of evil.

The screeching owl is the emblem of Marinette. After mounting people, she talks of eating people and confesses hideous crimes. At the end the houngan and the possessed alike jump in the fire and stamp it out. For sacrifice she is offered chickens that have been plucked alive, goats and sows. However, no one can touch these animals whilst preparing them; they must also be buried.

She often wanders the woods and goes to her secret place where the offerings she shares with no one are left.

* * *

**So many reviews from the last chapter, let's just cover the one's that need replies:**

**HGRHfan35** - I'm glad you don't like Cash, means I'm doing my job. He's an asshole.

**songbird1313** - I agree, Rick is turning into a stone cold killer and I kind of love that about him.

**Merle's Right Hand** - I never trust a man who's a smooth talker...something suspicious about them.

**itsi3** - Yeah, something about an easy going fellow like the Lt. getting angry makes me happy.

**Brazen Hussy** - It's good to know you have your priorities in order, babes.

**Surplus Imagination** - Yeah, poor Milton and his lady friend...I hope they tell him where they left her at least.

**Jack And Honey** - You're the only one who made that connection to Scooby Doo. You get a scooby snack for that.

**hopelesslydevoted2svu** - Well thank you! Very sweet to hear! It's reviews like that that keep the old machine running.

**spygrrl99** - Get in line, at least fifty people want to smack Carl...me personally I think Merle needs to do it, then they can reach a bit of an understanding and maybe some mutual respect.

**Jodie Kay** - Thank you! Very lovely of you to say! I appreciated every word of that review!

**SilverWolf84** - Oh God that would hit the spot right now, huh? A Wolf Pack rumble against Cash with Daryl and the Lt. leading it?

**alien-cats** - Your reviews were very sweet. Thank you. That first one, whew, it was a book but every word was so beautiful, honestly put the wind back into my sails. Thank you so much for that. Made my week I think. ^_^


	13. Krabinay

**Chapter Thirteen: Krabinay**

****Daryl****

The Lieutenant pulled back the curtain so they could watch Carol and Grace disappear out the door of the infirmary, before Daryl scowled.

"You like this?" He demanded.

"Not one bit," the Cajun replied, sighing heavily. "Can't be hypocrites, though, can we?"

"Speak for yourself," Daryl snarled.

Quirking a brow, the Lieutenant made a sound likened to a shrug in the back of his throat, before pulling out a key from under his sheets and leaning forward with a pained grunt to get at his chains.

"What the hell is that?"

"Swiped it."

"From where?"

"Only so many hiding places on a nun," unlocking the chains, the Lieutenant laughed almost manically and tossed him the key.

"Where?"

"Let's just say if she would have felt my hand she would have slapped me," the Cajun said, carefully getting to his feet, adjusting the tight bandages that kept his ribs in place, painfully pulling them tighter.

Daryl hastily unlocked his own chain and stood up cautiously, testing his limits. He felt better than he had the day before, but that wasn't saying much.

"Feels good to be up and about," the Cajun said with a wince.

"I'll bet, you alright?"

"Yeah, over did it yesterday. You?"

"I'm better standing than I was lying down." As he said this he eyed the man named Cash who was quietly observing them moving about. "You have a problem, slick?"

"Not at all, Shaggy, just admiring Scooby-Doo's gritty reboot," he replied, motioning to Clyde at Daryl's heel.

"Go to hell, jack ass," Daryl snarled.

"Yeah, while you and Fred are out hunting down the amusement park ghost, why don't you dig up some of that fortified wine I've heard Catholics keep around for blood rituals," the man replied. "Could use a good thing in this otherwise shitty day I've been having."

Tilting his head the Lieutenant inquired if Daryl wanted to handle it, he jerked his chin and the Cajun understood, moving towards the man's bed, using his towering, lithe, military-muscled form to intimidate the man.

"Look," he began, peering down at the man, nose to nose, "you're an intelligent man, it's time you learned a few things, yeah?"

The man swallowed, narrowing his eyes.

"First thing, you best be a little nicer, everybody loves a good southern gentleman, second, I'm a patient man, but 'Shaggy' he's got a temper and third, I don't want to hit you in your face, but I will if you keep pushing. You feel me, gunny?"

"But you won't, Cajun?"

"No?"

"No," the man replied with a small smug grin.

Daryl felt his hackles rise and he moved in closer to the two.

"You need a good reason to beat a man, right?" Cash asked, eyes going from the Lieutenant to Daryl and back again. "But you won't beat me without due cause."

Daryl watched the Lieutenant back off slightly. "What?"

"See? The dogs on my heels, they will, they kill and rape and take. They don't have that off switch in them. That piece of humanity remaining in their little bird brains. You and your friend there, you don't mindlessly beat on people. That's interesting to me. I've been pushing you and him all morning and most of the night, and the best you have is a threat."

"What?"

"I mean so far I've called you retarded, I've hit on your women – I'm assuming they're yours the way you both got riled – I've been belligerent and miserable and so far, none of your people seemed angry. It's only just now with your bed and chain removed you even got up in my face. You feel me, Cajun?" The man inquired, reaching for his nearly empty pack of cigarettes.

"You're testing us?" Daryl demanded.

"I'm not that smart, Shaggy," the man replied, fumbling through his stuff for a lighter. He pulled out a barbeque lighter and used it on his cigarette. "Don't get me wrong, I like to know that you're good people. But good won't count for shit when the hounds come braying at your gate."

"You ride with these men?" Daryl demanded.

"Ride is probably the wrong word to use, you don't ride with them, you fall in and the current just sort of takes you."

Kicking a nearby chair closer with a loud scraping, the Lieutenant eased down in it.

"Alright, you tell us everything and we won't string you up," he reasoned.

Taking a deep drag of his cigarette, Cash nodded. "You have a nice set up here, sweet girls to take care of you, enough people you don't need to worry about being on your own, fighting your own battles. But in Arkansas…things aren't so sweet and green…Look, let me say one thing, you find strangers waltzing up to your door, you don't hesitate, you put them down."

"Why?" Daryl growled. "Why would we do that?"

"Because idealism is for dreamers and dead men. Hell, you shouldn't have even brought me here."

"Why?"

"Because people die, that's the way of the world. It's always been this way, but now more than ever the animal in us is crawling back out of the primordial soup and we're nothing more than packs of creatures." Breathing out heavily the man ashed in his empty water glass and licked his bottom lip, "what'd you do with their vehicle on the highway?"

"Rolled it into the woods."

Cash nodded. "Good, you stay hidden from them until they pass this area."

"I ain't hiding from no one," Daryl growled. "Assholes want a fight, they'll have one."

"Maybe you'll win that fight too," Cash said, "better hope you do, though. Because if they win, they won't give one fuck about taking your women then and there over your corpses, _you_ feel me, gentlemen?"

"How many of them travel at once? Not the whole group, surely?"

"The assholes hunting me? No, they would have only sent out twenty or so on my ass."

"How many as a whole?"

"I don't know exact numbers back in Arkansas, but I can tell you there's too many for me to know everyone's name and face and that they outnumber their women ten to one."

"Meaning?"

"Meaning they're going to want to take back a few for fun and games."

"And you let us let our women out there?" The Lieutenant inquired.

"They're fine for now. The group sets up in a location, the men on my ass today were the hunting party, the others won't poke their heads out for a good week when their boys don't show."

"Where do they set up?"

"They tend to prefer making their own camp in the woods, somewhere untraveled."

Daryl eyed the Lieutenant's profile as the soldier angled his head towards him.

"How we do know you're not just stirring the pot, numb nuts?" Daryl snarled.

"You don't. I'm trying out a little of that Georgian trust, that you all seem so fond of. Besides, why would I incriminate myself by sharing my adventures with a group like that unless I was trying to save lives?"

"Why are they on your ass?" Daryl demanded.

Everyone paused as they noticed Annie tentatively approaching, her hazel-brown eyes wide, behind her Sister Joan walked, eyeing the men out of bed quietly, her hands holding a tray of breakfast.

"Grace let us go," the Lieutenant explained swiftly. "Said as long as we didn't overdo it we may as well get some moving around done."

"Lying's a sin, you know," she replied smoothly, setting a plate of something before Cash.

"Well, may as well add it to the list," the Lieutenant replied.

Daryl snorted, still eyeing Cash warily. He didn't like or trust him, but he believed his words. Sad that it didn't take much for him to believe man had fallen such a long way.

"Well, aren't you a cute little kitten," Cash purred to Annie.

She eyed him quietly, moving to stand close to the Lieutenant's side.

Daryl tensed. He didn't like the man talking to her.

"Don't talk to her," the Cajun said calmly.

Ignoring him, the man reached into the pocket of his worn jacket and pulled out a small, ugly looking keychain with a ragged looking bear holding tightly to a heart. He dangled it out for her.

"What's your name, darling?"

Annie clapped her hands, trying to catch the keychain as he swayed it. "Annie."

"Well, that's a pretty name, why do they call you that?"

"Because that's my name, _couyon_," she said, catching the keychain. "What's yours?"

"Cash."

Returning to the Lieutenant, Annie pulled herself into his lap. "Cash isn't a name, it's money," she pointed out, studying the keychain.

Cash smirked. "Sure is, darling. She yours?" He asked the Lieutenant.

"Yeah and I catch you talking to her again I'll take you out back and show you how we treat gators down on the bayou."

"They become shoes," Annie chirped, looking to the Cajun for confirmation that she was right.

Daryl had a feeling they had this conversation before.

Pressing a kiss to the top of Annie's head, the Lieutenant smirked. "That's right, boo, we stick our feet up their behinds and wear them two-stepping to the _fais-do-do_."

"Alright, that's enough throwing around testosterone," Sister Joan exclaimed, fluffing Daryl's pillow and motioning them over. "If you boys are going to be loose, you're going to be gentlemen."

Daryl lingered for a moment long after the Lieutenant and Annie hopped back onto his bed, eyeing Cash quietly from the foot of his bed, before sniffing and moving back to eat his breakfast. When he got the chance he'd stomp the asshole into the mud, didn't care much for him or his day/night attitude. Didn't care much for what he had to say either.

Beating the bearer of bad news was fine with him.

**************____********************..-~-..**

* * *

******************____********************..-~-..**

"_Chien_."

They had pulled the curtain between them and Cash, while Daryl cleaned his crossbow out of boredom, with his big assed moose-dog taking up half the bed, the Lieutenant was sitting with Annie curled against him, jabbing her finger at pictures in a giant glossy paged book she had retrieved from the dorms.

"_Ciel_."

"Is that the colour or the sky?" Annie demanded.

"Sky."

"What's the colour?"

"_Bleu_."

"That's the same!" She argued. "We say blue too."

"Ah, but you don't put a fine French twist on it, yeah?"

The girl made a sound, poking her bare feet against his. "Your feet are really big," she pointed out loudly, "Mr. Daryl's too."

Tsking playfully, the Cajun beamed. "Maybe your feet are too tiny. Ever think of that, little missy?" He asked, poking her ribs playfully, before tweaking her chin.

Annie giggled and tucked her jaw to her shoulder to prevent the attack. "No! I'm still little, that's why."

"Hey, short stack, what's this 'Mr. Daryl' stuff?" Daryl inquired.

Annie rubbed her face. "Um…sorry, Mr. Dixon."

"No, that ain't right neither." He replied.

The little girl seemed to be getting agitated trying to figure out what she did wrong, so the Lieutenant swooped in, kissing her forehead and beaming. "You call him Uncle Daryl."

"Is that right?" Annie asked, turning her big eyes on him.

Daryl swallowed thickly, before nodding once. "Yeah, sounds about right."

The little girl seemed to ponder this, before closing the book and leaving in across the Lieutenant's legs, clambering down from the bed and moving around it towards Daryl's.

Carefully, she hopped up onto his bed and curled around him like a little snake.

Daryl tensed, he wasn't sure what to do exactly.

"My boo has forsaken me," the Lieutenant mused.

"Just for a little while," Annie chirped.

Cautiously settling his arms around the little girl, Daryl winced as she accidentally pushed against his wound.

"So, what you do think? What's the plan?" He asked the Lieutenant as Annie settled.

"I dunno. Meet up with Delgado first and foremost, feel his people out, let them know of the situation, then recon the area for the group, I suppose. Either live and let live or…do what needs to be done."

"What about numb nuts beside you?"

"Oh, I'm still planning the pillow thing we discussed."

Feeling a tiny hand linking with his Daryl chose to ignore it, not sure whether to encourage it or not.

"I like your style, Fay." He rasped.

"I like yours, _cabri_." The man replied with a small grin. "First things first, though, we wait for our girls to get home."

"You son of a bitch!"

Daryl and the Lieutenant both exchanged a curious furrowing of their brows, before the Cajun drew the curtain back in time to see Rick standing in the doorway of the infirmary, being helped inside by Beth and Sister Mary Elizabeth.

Cash's eyes brightened. "Well, killer, this is an interesting development, isn't it?"

"You knocked me out and left me for dead!" Rick growled.

He looked like hell reheated, but that wasn't something new for him, but new for right now. Last Daryl had seen the man was getting a little healthier weight to him, looking less pale and deathly, but now the shadows had returned, giving him a haunted look.

"I left you precious food and water, that's hardly leaving you for dead, Huckleberry."

Breaking away from Beth and Sister Mary Elizabeth, Rick grabbed hold of the man by the front of his shirt and hauled his ass out of the bed, dragging him to the door.

Daryl and the Lieutenant got up, following the commotion.

Outside on the lawns, Rick dragged the beaten Cash by his arm, heading for the gate.

"Mr. Grimes!" Sister Mary Elizabeth exclaimed, following them closely, trying to help the poor man to his feet. "Mr. Grimes, stop this! Please?"

"Rick!" Glenn shouted, emerging from the dorms. "Rick stop!"

"Are we going to step in or let it happen?" The Lieutenant asked, shielding Annie's eyes from the scene.

Daryl squinted at Rick as he continued to ignore everyone, heading for the gate with the new guy.

"Take your time."

"Better stop him, the guy's an ass, but he might know more about this group on his tail," Daryl said.

"Go ahead, _cabri_, I've got your back," the Cajun said.

* * *

**The Voodoo Dialect**

**Krabinay** - Krabinay are a multitude of evil spirits. They dress all in red and do high impressive jumps. People are warned away from Krabinay. However, they are very tough and can offer a great deal of assistance to a houngan. These loa behave in a truly devilish way. Possessions induced by them are so violent that spectators are advised to keep their distance. They take pleasure in cynicism. However, they undertake treatment of desperate cases.

* * *

**The Cajun Dialect (A Reminder)**

**Fais-do-do** – Means sleeping or in this case a Cajun style dance hall party.

**Chien** – Dog

**Ciel** – Sky

**Bleu** – Green (I'm kidding, of course, it means **blue**)

* * *

**Jodie Kay** - *le gasp* You sadist! ^_^! Thanks for the review, maybe you'll get your wish!

**DarylDixon'sLover** - Thanks!

**songbird1313** - Ah, don't worry, I understand. Reviews are harder than writing the damned story, aren't they?

**HGRHfan35** - Ugh, Cash...I hope the Lt. and Daryl get a chance to smack him around a bit.

**Merle's Right Hand** - Never piss off a nun. True story.

**Yazzy x** - I agree! Wholeheartedly!

**itsi3** - Who knows what drives men like Cash and Merle to shove their feet into their mouths?

**Brazen Hussy** - I like my cash wet and limp...is that wrong?

**Axelrocks** - Rick does seem to need someone to take a lot of the burden...but then again he puts a lot of the burden on himself, doesn't he? Poor babes.

**shelly2** - Oh gosh, first-timer reviews are always welcome and so lovely to hear. Thank you. I think you're just aces! ^_^

**SilverWolf84** - Grace is a sadist at heart I think.


	14. Ayezan II

**Chapter Fourteen: Ayezan II**

****Carol****

Beside her in the truck Grace eyed the passing countryside with calm interest.

She supposed the woman hadn't been outside the convent except to attend Maggie's funeral and was pleased to be taking in new scenery.

With four of them crammed in the cab of the truck, it was hard to get a good view, but even Carol enjoyed the fleeting glimpses of the unattended fields and thick forests of the Georgian roadside, as they swung down the secondary highway, heading for Woodbury.

Sitting between Michonne at the wheel and the two women, Karen smiled over at Grace and Carol, eyes darting to check on Milton who was riding in the back of the truck, huddled over to avoid the wind and cold.

"I'm sorry you two have to do this," she said. "I wish it was easier for us to just get together."

Carol offered her a small smile. "We don't mind."

"It's understandable that the people of Woodbury would be hesitant," Grace added.

"What's the situation there? Really?" Carol asked.

Sighing heavily, Karen turned her eyes to the highway ahead of them. "Um, well a lot of us left, only the sick and old remain behind, but they're still the most important ones. They need help more than anyone. Right now Mr. Cole is in charge, but everyday there's people missing and gone. What Milton and I are starting to worry about is lack of security. There are not enough healthy people to watch the gate anymore."

"What's the threat level like?" Grace asked softly.

Carol eyed her. The woman had never really dealt with walkers before, she wasn't sure Grace would be ready if anything went wrong, but she was determined to cover her if she needed it. Carol couldn't imagine returning to the convent without Grace, she didn't want to think of the Lieutenant's reaction to losing her.

Thinking of this, Carol reached over and took Grace's hand in hers.

"The threat is low. We get stragglers, but nothing on a grand scale."

Pulling up to the gate of Woodbury, Karen hopped out to give Milton coverage as he moved to open the gate for the truck.

Carol peered around, taking in the lack of walkers with a small sigh of relief.

Pulling into Woodbury, Michonne honked the horn twice, letting those inside know they weren't a threat as Karen and Milton closed up the gate behind them.

Carol took in the empty street, the boarded up buildings with cautious eyes.

As the truck pulled to a stop and they all hopped out, Karen and Milton caught up, eyeing the area quietly.

"Which building?" Grace asked, adjusting the pack on her back, resting her .22 against the truck as she did so.

"Just over here," Milton motioned. "We told them to barricade themselves up during the day."

Carol was about to follow Milton, when she spied Grace putting her rifle back into the truck cab.

She paused eyeing the woman, unable to form the words to tell her that was a horrible idea, but Grace tapped the cross at her breast gently, wordlessly explaining her reasoning.

For a moment Carol reached out to grip the rifle and hand it back to Grace, but she hesitated.

Maybe weapon wielding nuns wouldn't be well received.

Briefly touching the knife hidden among the black folds of her own habit, Carol frowned, before setting her rifle inside the cab as well. Smoothing down her robes quickly and quietly she followed the others towards the building, leaving Michonne to watch over the truck.

The building they headed for was an old turn-of-the-century looking brick monster, probably the best thing to hole up inside should a herd wander through, and Carol could tell by the way it was boarded up, it was fortified against such a thing.

Crossing the wide main street, they eyed the town.

It was as empty as any place, no sign of life or unlife and the eerie calm and stillness unnerved her.

She had never been to Woodbury, had expected it to be somehow nicer, more polished, less end of the world looking and more suburban dream.

Maybe she had been wishing it was. Maybe she was hoping at least one place still retained a small amount of dignity.

Reaching the boarded up door to the building, Milton rapped on it in a rapid, planned pattern and waited, hand nervously and awkwardly adjusting the pistol at his hip.

Carol eyed him, before glancing behind them cautiously, ensuring the street was still empty. Finding Michonne hopping onto the roof of the truck, she smiled gently and turned back to the door.

Milton knocked again, louder.

At her side Grace shifted in her spot.

Karen glanced over at Milton after a minute or two of nervous waiting.

"Maybe you'd better go get the guns," Grace whispered to Carol.

She nodded and turned, hurrying across the street for the truck, picking up the hem of her habit so as not to trip on it. Hopping off the curb, she paused when a movement caught her eye, moving around the corner of the brick building to her left.

Milton caught sight of the walkers just as she did and he froze, hand on his gun.

About five of them came around the corner, more following.

They looked fairly new to the undead set and hungry and like they freshly fed.

Karen and Grace noticed the walkers, and all four of them backed away slowly.

Realizing that Milton's gunfire would bring more (if there was any) to their location, Carol pulled the large combat knife from its leather sheath and stepped forward, moving to stand beside Milton, putting herself between Grace and Karen and the walkers as more spilled from around the corner.

"Get inside," she ordered them.

Clumsily pushing open the door into the brick building, Karen pushed Grace and Milton inside, Carol bringing up the rear as the walkers collided against the door just a hair's breadth behind them, clawing and pounding at the door.

Throwing herself against the door to keep it closed, Carol struggled to find grip on the ceramic tile inside the building.

"Jesus," Grace muttered behind her.

Throwing a quick glance over her shoulder, Carol found the large, open room beyond the narrow front hall littered with bodies.

Karen raised her rifle as a few of them began to move.

Beneath her hands the door bumped and jarred open.

"The roof," Milton said, pushing Grace in the direction of a set of narrow stairs beside the door.

Really it looked like the only option at the moment.

Holding the door long enough for the others to get moving up the stairs, Carol gave it one last desperate shove, before scurrying after them up the stairs.

Halfway up she tripped on the habit and fell hard on the steps, her chin colliding with the edge of a stair. Ignoring the pain in her jaw, she picked herself up and hurried onwards, trailing after the others.

They reached a small room where a ladder led up to a hatchway and Carol watched the door as Karen forced Grace up the ladder first.

As Karen followed, Carol and Milton covered them as the first of the walkers reached the top of the stairs.

Milton shot his pistol, but seemed to be only winging the walkers.

Without thinking too much outside of survival Carol grabbed the pistol, burning her hand on the barrel in the process and exchanged the knife for it, taking aim and knocking a few walkers back clogging the narrow hall.

"Go," she ordered Milton, grabbing her knife back as the pistol was empty.

He hurried up the ladder and Carol followed as close as she dared, walkers grabbing at her ankles, tearing at the habit. She felt a few get a good hold of the black material and yank her hard, but she kicked them in the face with her boots and carried on, throwing herself through the hatch and onto the gravel and tar of the rooftop.

Kicking the heavy hatch closed with her foot, Carol lay on the rooftop for a moment, before rolling over and onto her hands and knees.

"I guess we don't need to worry about diplomacy anymore," Karen remarked darkly.

Milton, kneeling, was reloading his pistol, hands shaking.

"How are we going to get off this roof?" He asked.

Carol shielded her eyes from the sun, trying to locate Michonne below them.

Walkers must have chased her from the truck as a few were milling around near it.

That's when Carol spotted the woman's form huddled almost invisible on a rooftop of her own, hiding behind the fake storefront.

"We weren't expecting this," Karen muttered angrily, eyeing the crowd of walkers that was still beating at the door below them. "Something must have got inside at them…or…they turned. I don't know…"

"Carol," Grace said softly. "May I borrow that?" She motioned to the knife in Carol's hand.

Running her thumb over the etched word 'Salt' Carol nodded and handed it over.

Grace sliced at the habit she wore, cutting the skirt of it in half, shortening it. She tossed the mass of cloth aside and tore off her wimple and veil, cutting the arms of the black habit off at her shoulders.

"Damn thing nearly killed me," Grace muttered, handing the knife back.

Carol knelt and did the same to her habit, making it easier to run in if push came to shove.

"We should have had more firepower," Karen spat.

"It's my fault," Grace stated. "I left my rifle in the truck, thought it'd spook the people inside. I'm sorry."

Carol offered her a small smile. "We're okay, everyone is still alive, the hatch should hold."

"Can we…I don't know jump to the next building?" Milton suggested, eyeing the distance between the two buildings.

"They'd still be down there, between us and the truck," Carol said. "With no real firepower, we wouldn't make it."

Grace tugged off the canvas pack that the Lieutenant insisted she bring with her and opened it, digging through the amount of things.

Carol spied the woman dropping cans of mixed nuts and what looks like folded sheets onto the rooftop.

A bottle of water, a mass of dog tags, a whet stone, box of spare .308 rounds, cans of fruit, some packets of ketchup and crackers, everything and anything anyone could ever need in an emergency ever.

"Good Lord," Grace muttered. "Why does that man pack like a woman on her honeymoon?"

Carol spied something drop from another bundle of crap out of the Lieutenant's pack and knelt to pick it up.

"Hand grenade?" She muttered.

"Doesn't help us, unless we want to blow ourselves to bits," Karen growled.

"What is this?" Grace pulled out a handful of tins, handing them to Carol.

She dropped most of them, reading one. "Blue gel? Highly flammable, keep off skin and away from eyes," she read, cracking open the lid and peeking inside. It looked like jelly, blue jelly.

Looking up she found Grace eyeing a piece of paper in her hand, the woman noticed her gaze and quickly shoved the paper back inside the sack.

"This might work," Carol said. "I don't suppose he has a—"

Grace held up a box of matches from among the pile of crap, shoving things back inside the bag quickly and without much care, in a hurry to get in motion before the walkers figured out a way through the hatch.

Taking the box of matches, Carol moved to the pile of black habit and picked a piece up, dipping it carefully into the blue gel.

"Get ready to jump to the next building," she said to Karen and Milton as Grace replaced the pack on her back and began carefully dipping cloth into the gel as well.

Opening the hatch for them Karen stepped back as Carol and Grace began raining the gel soaked clothe down onto the walkers scrambling at the ladder.

Kicking a few in the face with her boot to keep them down, Carol fumbled for the match box and struck one, quickly dropping it into the mess of undead. Flames shot up from the corpse pile and Carol leapt back onto her ass to avoid getting fire spit in her face, Grace doing the same.

Karen pulled a face at the smell and sizzle of the flesh and toed the hatch closed with her boot.

Shoving the cans of blue gel back inside Grace's pack, Carol prepared to leap onto the roof of the next building, watching as Karen was the first to try it, wincing as the woman barely made it.

"I can't do this," Grace admitted.

Carol eyed her quietly.

"Carol, I'm nearly fifty, I'm not young enough for it."

"You'll make it," she urged.

Milton moved towards them, holding out his pistol. "Here, you two go ahead, I'll bring up the rear."

Carol took the gun.

"In case I don't make it," he explained calmly.

"Mr. Mamet," Grace began.

The man smiled shyly. "Never been real sporty…think long jump was the worst event at track meets for me."

Deciding she had enough with their bullshit, Carol scowled. "Grace, take a good run. Don't think about the fall, just jump." She ordered. "Mr. Mamet, we'll see you over there."

Moving to the furthest side of the building with them, Carol inhaled deeply. Maybe Daryl's short temper was rubbing off on her.

"Give it all you have," she commanded Grace. "Go on."

The woman crossed herself, before taking off, she halted short at the edge and came back.

The woman looked visibly shaken, but levelled her chin stubbornly. "One more try," she insisted.

Carol held her breath as Grace took another run at the gap, pushing off the lip of the roof with all she had.

For a moment Carol felt her heart lurch, then resume its pace as Grace collapsed hard against the edge of the other building, Karen hurrying to help her up.

"I'll see you over there," Carol insisted to Milton.

He looked unsure, but nodded.

Inhaling deeply, knowing she didn't have much of a better chance than Grace at making the jump, Carol pushed off, giving everything she had, heading for the edge.

She sprung off the end of the roof, not thinking about the fall, but thinking about the collision with the next building.

Winding herself as she hit the edge with her sternum, Carol's hands slid through the gravel roughly, the burn blister from the pistol barrel tearing open painfully as Grace and Karen helped her onto the roof.

Turning she eyed Milton as he quietly stood on the other roof, watching them calmly.

"Jump," she urged softly, not sure if he heard her, but wanting him to have some encouragement.

She watched as he angled his head and for a second she didn't think he was going to.

Smoke was billowing out of the cracks in the boarded up windows of the building and Carol knew more than walkers was burning inside it.

And then Milton was moving, running towards them, heading for the gap.

Carol stepped back, preparing to give him space to land.

As he stepped on the edge of the building, she saw him falter and gasped as he launched himself, flying through the air.

It wasn't enough, his fingertips grazed the ledge of their building and he was gone out of sight.

The fall wouldn't kill him, but the walkers below.

The three women raced to the edge to peer down, spying Milton splayed out on the ground beneath them.

"Milton," Carol hissed.

He seemed to be having trouble breathing, winded on the hard concrete.

Spying walkers entering the narrow alley from the street, Carol hissed to him again.

He was still struggling to breathe.

Raising the pistol, Carol fired at a few walkers who were getting too close, unable to keep up with them, Karen helping out as well.

She felt a wave of helplessness wash over her as the walkers outnumbered her ability to keep up with firing.

And then Michonne was behind the group, her sword swinging, knocking the heads off three at a time.

Carol would have helped the woman, but the pistol was out of bullets.

Karen fired, taking out a few, but Michonne held her own, gripping Milton by the upper arm and dragging him to his feet.

Heaving a sigh of relief as Michonne disappeared around the corner of the building with Milton, Carol collapsed on the rooftop, shaking.

* * *

**Jodie Kay** - Well thank you, I think you're a great reviewer!

**Merle's Right Hand** - Fay is cheeky, but you love him for it. And yes, shirtless Daryl with a dog and Annie, I'm trying to melt hearts here, babes.

**Yazzy x** - Kids are pretty resilient, aren't they?

**DarylDixon'sLover** - Thanks.

**Brazen Hussy** - Boy, you sure hate Rick...you amuse me. ^_^

**Jack And Honey** - I think with Grace and the Lt. raising her, Annie is only going to get worse in regards to her cheek and her stubborn nature.

**TheLadyDanae** - Well thank you! Things people love to hear! Things I love to hear. ^_^

**Whooptiedoo** - I'm glad you appreciate how I slow things don't sometimes. I think the everyday things are still important to this story. After all, it's heavily character centred and you can't build relationships without taking time to weave them.

**itsi3** - Indeed!

**Supfan** - No worries. I'm just glad you're okay.

**hopelesslydevoted2svu** - Oooh, the million dollar question I've been asked lately. Richard Armitage for the Lt. (hands down, no arguments) and over on tumblr the discussion ended with Kathryn Erbe for Grace...though she is still open to debate.

**Lilone1776** - Aw, thank you! I'm glad to see you're back! I was worried for a while there! ^_^

**Tigerlily xoxo** - Agreed!

**basically-a-fangirl** - Oh, Daryl is going to be wrapped around both Annie and Judith's little finger. He's the gruff uncle type who'd pretend he hates his job but secretly loves and adores the girls.

**HGRHfan35** - Oooh someone's weaving suspense and I wish it were me...^_^

**Surplus** **Imagination** - I hope Rick kicks his ass, the dude seems unstable.

**SilverWolf84** - Rick is definitely the most unstable wolf in the pack right now (weird when Merle seems like the rational one all of a sudden, huh?)

**GG** - LOL! I hope Grace whoops the Lt's hinder for stealing and grazing her lady places in order to do so.

**Axelrocks** - Daryl does kind of look like Shaggy though, ain't going to lie.

**Laura** - Thank you!

**BanannaFlvdSnow** - Aw, they are a cute team, aren't they? Just enough sugar and spice to make things interesting. ^_^ (Daryl would kick both our asses for that...so...at least he'd be paying us some attention).


	15. Agau

**Quick note up here, kiddos, very important! Apparently the beautiful temptress who does the cover art for Graveyard Dirt & Salt and this very story you're about to read has made a trailer for Graveyard Dirt & Salt and it is so good! Follow the link on my profile to her art blog, like her original work, but also enjoy the video! **

**Also, also, there's apparently a fan blog for my works over on tumblr now...kind of worried that my silly fanfictions aren't good enough to hold up a fan blog, but thanks to those who made it. I'm honoured. Anyways, I think you can find it by searching graveyarddirtandsalt...I believe that's right. There's fan art and links to a playlist for your enjoyment while reading these stories.**

**Alright, on with the story!**

* * *

**Chapter 15: Agau**

****Merle****

When he came back to the convent, he felt like he was walking into a WWE ring, filled with fighting and arguing and onlookers and Merle knew he should have felt at home among the chaos, but with his hand filled with fat rabbits, all he could do was stand around dripping rabbit blood on the grass and scowling.

Moving to stand beside the Lieutenant, who was watching the fighting with Annie attached to his leg, Merle eased against the truck they stood beside and watched the chaos.

"What's going on?"

The Cajun quirked a brow. "Well, from what I gather from the shouting. Rick hates the new guy and wants to either kill him or kick his ass out."

"And what's with the McNugget?"

"Carl's yelling at Glenn and Daryl because they were trying to stop Rick from killing the new guy."

"And the woman and kid?"

"They came with the new guy. They don't seem to want him to get hurt, though personally I'm pulling for Rick to knock some teeth out. Father O'Rourke is taking some verbal abuse in Farsi, because he touched the woman and apparently the kid doesn't like that and that's pretty much when you came in."

"Why are you just standing around?"

Turning from the action, the Lieutenant tilted his head. "I have broken ribs, _grande beede_, plus I'm not sure which fight I want to jump in on."

"Fair enough." Merle watched as Rick pinned the new guy on the grass with his knee between his shoulder blades. "Should I…maybe do something?"

"Hm, well see I'm torn, the new guy has information on this new group that's roaming the area could be useful to us alive, but he's also a…if I say _salaud_ will you just take my word that he's a major one?"

"Asshole, huh?"

"That'll work too."

"What's a _salaud_?" Annie chirped.

"It's French for salad, sugar boo, but don't ever repeat it in front of Mother Mena, yeah?"

"Okay!"

"Rick we need him here!" Daryl growled as he grabbed hold of Rick by the arms and held the ex-cop back from kicking the new guy in the face.

"We don't need anyone, everyone who comes near us dies, no more mercy," Rick stated. "It's too dangerous. We need to let people know that this is our territory and they'll face consequences for trespassing on our land!"

"My dad is right!" Carl argued. "We've lost too many people! We can't trust anyone!"

"Carl, we're not killing people without provocation," Glenn snarled, helping Daryl restrain Rick.

"Glenn you of all people should know how dangerous strangers can be roaming this area!" Rick shouted.

"But killing everyone who comes near can't make sense!" Glenn argued. "We could use allies, Rick! I'm sick of fighting our own kind when there's a bigger threat out there in a much larger number!"

Merle sneered at Carl as the others fought, he didn't like how he kept his hand so close to the 9mm at his side. Somebody was going to have to take that boy in hand and slap some sense into him before people got seriously hurt.

He spied Sister Joan approaching from her spot at the front gate.

The woman mounted the truck they stood beside, climbing onto the roof.

"Enough!" She shouted, her voice ringing off the trees surrounding the convent.

Everyone stopped what they were doing, Rick pulling out of Daryl's grip and moving off to stand by himself.

"This is still our convent!" She shouted. "And we will not put up with violence! We're not animals!"

"You tell that pack of rabid wolves, sister." Merle cheered with a small grin.

"Shut your face, Merle!" She snapped.

With wide eyes and a jerk of his chin, Merle fell silent, impressed by the woman's nerve.

At his side the Cajun snorted.

"Now someone please get this poor man back into the infirmary?" She pleaded.

"Look, Sister," Rick began. "I'm still in charge of this group and I'm telling you it's dangerous to trust anyone outside our people."

"As far as I'm concerned, Mr. Grimes, with Mother Superior gone, the Lieutenant is in charge of us here at the convent, at least until you regain some of your sanity."

"I'm very sane!" Rick snarled darkly, turning almost animalistic in his intensity. "I'm probably the only sane one here! This man will only bring us more death and loss!"

"Not me you should worry about, killer," the new guy said from the ground. "I just want to be on my way as much as you want me to be."

Marching forward, Rick lunged at the man but was cut off by Glenn and Daryl grabbing him again.

Spying Carl taking too much of an interest in the exchange, Merle handed off the rabbits to the Cajun and moved forward, shoving the little shit on the ground just as he went for his gun.

"Get off my son!" Rick growled.

Taking Carl's gun, Merle sneered at the ex-cop who had suddenly turned his rage on him. "I'm trying to prevent the little asshole from murdering someone, Officer Friendly! Maybe if you took charge of him, he wouldn't be pulling his piece on anyone who pisses him off! I'd sooner trust Annie with a gun then your little shit of an offspring!"

"The boy has a right to defend himself!" Rick growled.

"Your son is a psychopath on his way to being full blown nutty! Remember how unstable I was with a gun? Remember what you did to me? Should we handcuff him to a roof? See if he cools down some?"

"That was different," Rick argued. "You were hopped up on uppers."

"And he's losing his grip! Take your boy in hand or I swear to God one of these days he's going to kill one of us because we said the wrong thing to him!"

"Rick," Daryl stepped in quietly, hesitant. "Merle's right. Carl's been making people uncomfortable with how he handles that gun."

"My son handles it fine," Rick said. "He knows it's not a toy."

"Of course he does," Glenn broke in. "But that's what scares us."

Merle could see the muscle in Rick's jaw twitched as the man soaked in the information given to him.

"Carl," he said finally. "Go wait for me in the church."

"No." The boy stated.

Rick angled his head to face the boy. "Carl?"

The boy eyed his father quietly, before stalking off in the opposite direction of the church, heading towards the rectory to skulk behind the small house.

Dragging a hand over his face, Rick looked like he wasn't ready to stop fighting, but had finally accepted a few things.

"May I borrow your peach box, Sister?" The Lieutenant asked, moving to stand beside Sister Joan on the top of the truck.

She hopped down for him.

"Okay," he began simply, drawing attention from the onlookers, still clutching the hunted rabbits in his sling hand. "It's apparent to me that we need a little structure and while I'm not fond of pulling rank – call it a military thing – I think for now we can safely assume Rick needs rest, the new guy needs space and everyone else needs to feel safe and secure."

"You're in no condition to lead either," Rick growled.

"No," the Cajun admitted, angling his head. "Believe me, I'm in so much pain right now I think I'm going to pass out, but if I'm willing to admit that, are you?"

Rick pondered this.

"For now, let's just all take a day or two, calm ourselves, recuperate and then we can decide whether we want to work together or fall apart."

"I want this man watched," Rick conceded defeat with a parting condition.

"Believe me, he'll be watched," the Lieutenant said, "if there's anything I can offer you right now, it's peace of mind. But please, for the sake of the troops, get some rest, yeah? We're stronger when you're stronger."

He nodded after a moment, it was barely perceivable, but it was better than nothing.

Offering Rick Carl's piece, Merle murmured. "Maybe you best think before you give it back to him."

Quietly Rick handed the gun back to Merle. "You'd better hold on to it for a while."

Eyeing the man suspiciously, Merle shoved the weapon into his belt and sniffed. "Well, whatever, just stop acting like a nutbar and get some sleep, huh?"

Watching Rick walk off, Merle almost felt bad for the man. Hell, if it wasn't for the dangerous bladed stump where his right hand used to be, Merle would feel full out sorry for him.

Sniffing in mild contempt, he turned back to get his rabbits from the Cajun, who was descending the truck with the help of Merle's brother.

"Never thought I'd live to see the day when you're the one restraining someone, baby bro," Merle teased, taking his kills from the Cajun.

Daryl scowled. "Yeah, well, this place is going to shit."

"Yeah, I know."

"Rick needs some honest rest," the Lieutenant added eyeing the direction the man had gone, Annie moving to cling to his leg again. "I've seen stress take a man down, put him scrubs and padded rooms."

"What should we do?" Daryl asked.

The Cajun shifted on his bare feet, raking the tall blades of grass with his feet. "Tranq him."

Merle's eyes darted over to his brother and held his gaze for a moment.

"You serious?" Daryl asked softly.

"Naw, Cajun's got a point," Merle said. "Rick's unstable right now, the last thing we need with this group of Tyreese's is for Rick to go into their camp angry. We could make powerful allies there or let Rick make some nasty enemies."

"Why, Merle," the Lieutenant teased, "that sounds almost diplomatic of you."

Merle scoffed. "I'm getting too old to play war games with Officer Friendly at my back, don't think I give one good goddamn about your soldier boy and his friends. So what's with this new asshole, anyways?"

"Says there's a group out there," Daryl said, casting a wary glance at Annie.

The Lieutenant peered down at the girl. "Ear muffs, boo."

Eyeing them quickly, she clamped her hands over her ears and began to sing 'This Little Light of Mine'.

"Rapists, murderers, general assholes," Daryl went on.

"And the guy?"

"Fuck him, he's unstable too," the Lieutenant stated. "But for now he's important, he knows how these men work, how they run things. If we want to feel them out, we'll need him for details."

"How unstable?" Merle demanded.

"Well for one, he doesn't know when to shut his mouth."

"Asshole has a beak on him like a pelican," Daryl added.

Merle frowned, before nodding. "Okay, fine. For now we'll give this guy the infirmary, you two set up in your own beds. I'll put Sister Joan on guard duty. The woman's a spitfire, so no one'll get past her. Until then, you two keep an eye out, but stay out of trouble, the women come back, they'll kick my ass up and down the lawns if they know you were loose."

"Excuse me?"

The three men glanced over to find the boy with the big brown eyes watching them calmly, behind him stood his mother, who watched them nervously.

"We would like to take Cash and go now, please?" He said in a thickly accented voice.

Merle blinked at the kid, before turning back to his brother and the Lieutenant. "Who's this little asshole now?"

"Kid came with the man," Daryl said.

"Jesus, they didn't tell me about a kid…or did they? Christ, I can't remember, well stuff him in a closet or something."

"We just want to go in peace," the boy insisted.

Merle quirked a brow at the kid. "Yeah, well, tough shit you're going nowhere until I give the go ahead."

"You cannot keep us here."

"Look, kid, sorry but that guy you came with is important to us right now. Just sit tight, alright?" Daryl asked.

"Hi!" Annie chirped from the Lieutenant's leg, peeking around Merle at the new kid with hopeful eyes.

The boy blinked at her.

"I'm Annie!"

"Why do you need Cash?" The boy asked, ignoring Annie, eyes on Merle. "He doesn't want to be here."

"Look, we just need him to give us more information about these men after him. They could hurt our people and we want to figure out a way to defend ourselves from them." Daryl said.

The boy blinked at them again, eyes unreadable.

"We promise Rick won't hurt Cash again," the Lieutenant added. "Merle's putting a guard on the infirmary."

Pondering this, the boy glanced at his mother, before frowning. "Is my mother safe here?"

"No one will hurt you or your ma, kid," Merle said.

Staring them all down, the kid seemed to be weighing his options, before he quietly moved off, his mother lingering long enough to offer them a worried look, before following.

Annie sniffed, dragging her hand across her teary eyes.

"Aw, boo," the Lieutenant crooned.

"I said 'hi'," she sobbed.

Scowling, Merle glared in the direction of the little snot nosed brat who seemed to think he could boss people around and break little girls' hearts with his rude behaviour. Little shit better watch himself.

"Hey," he said, turning back to Annie who was clinging hard to the Cajun's leg. "Why don't you forget about that little shit and come clean rabbits with old Merle."

Wiping snot on her arm, Annie sniffled and blinked her watery eyes. "Can I keep their feet?"

"Jesus, kid," Merle exclaimed.

"For luck!" She chirped, suddenly over her tears, as the Lieutenant used a worn rag from his back pocket to wipe the snot off her arm and the tears off her face.

"Yes, fucksakes, I guess. Come on, turkey squirt," he urged.

Annie beamed and grabbed hold of his pocket, following Merle across the lawns to help him clean his kills.

* * *

**The Voodoo Dialect**

**Agau** – Agau is a very violent god. Earth tremors and the frightening sounds associated with storms are because of Agau. The trances induced by his mounting are so violent there have been deaths associated with his brutality. When one is mounted one attempts to imitate the sounds of thunder and tremors, if they are strong enough to utter sounds under the possession. The possessed person keeps repeating, "It is I who am the gunner of god; when I roar the earth trembles."

It is said that when the earth tremors, Agau is angry. Those who are strong enough to keep him in their bodies are puffing with all their strength and sputtering like seals. One has to be very strong to harbor this spirit.

* * *

**The Cajun Dialect (A Reminder)**

**Salaud** – Bastard

* * *

**DarylDixon'sLover** - Damn, I was planning to, but since you asked so nicely...maybe...

**Jodie Kay** - I'm hoping Milton evolves too.

**Merle's Right Hand** - Yikes. Don't piss yourself, dude.

**Surplus Imagination** - It's a funny thing about long jumps, all it takes is one little falter and you can wind up like Milton...I'm not at all recommending you try it with a rooftop, but on the ground if you get the chance, let me know. ^_^

**peonies01** - You and me both. I'm quite fond of the She-Wolves.

**basically-a-fangirl** - As much as I enjoy the idea of nuns kicking walker ass in full regalia, it's very impractical, I'm glad you recognized this and appreciated it.

**HGRHfan35** - Well, babies can still come as long as the lady still menstruates doesn't matter how old she is. The shit you learn watching The View...I need to get out more...

**Brazen Hussy** - Neo-samurai is my goal in life. Thanks. ^_^

**itsi3** - XD

**Yazzy x** - I agree. Stupid move on Grace's part, though I suppose she had a point about people feeling safer with nuns who weren't packing heat.

**shelly2** - Oh God, that's probably one of the best compliment's I could get about Merle and how I write him. Thank you so much.

**GG** - I'm almost tempted to write in a baby walker somewhere...like a tiny toddler walker...hrmm...

**Jack And Honey** - Uncle Daryl feels, hopefully some Uncle Merle feels after this chapter...God help the kid who tries to call him Uncle Merle...can't see him being as casual about it as Daryl...though a part of me feels like he'd be touched, his reaction would be to put up those defenses of his again.

**Happy Blue Ink** - Hey, look at you reviewing this silly story! ^_^ My goal, to get every single man in that infirmary until it's packed with whiny male babies.


	16. Damballah

**Chapter 16: Damballah **

****Sister Mary Elizabeth****

Swinging the watering can, she approached the pump.

Above her the late afternoon heat of the Georgian sun blazed down, the humidity was high and the countryside was sticky with the damp.

Days where it was both muggy and hot made her glad the Mother Superior gave them permission to wear casual clothes, the habits got very, very hot in the heat of the south and the light cotton blouse she wore was much cooler against her skin.

Spying Beth in the shade entertaining Judith, Mary Elizabeth slowed and smiled. But the young woman's attention wasn't on her, but a form huddled just behind the pump, lanky legs pulled up effortlessly, boot heels dug into the ground.

Setting down the watering can, she shielded her eyes from the sun and found it was Mr. Grimes sitting there like a down and out old dog.

After the earlier excitement he had moved off on his own and nobody dared follow him.

Well, she wasn't put off by the man, if anything she was more drawn to helping him. It was what a decent Sister of the order did.

Grabbing her watering can and moving across the grass, she approached him, losing only a little courage as she get near, recalling how he did frighten her a little at times. How her heart would pick up speed at the sight of him, how her palms would sweat.

He carried himself much like a predatory animal, ready to bite and growl at anyone who threatened to harm him and his people.

Though, she wasn't much of a threat. The only people smaller than her at the convent was Annie and Judith.

Her daddy used to call her his little church mouse, because she was so small and shy.

Reaching Mr. Grimes and the pump, Sister Mary Elizabeth inhaled deeply, before squatting down beside him, eyeing his profile.

If he noticed her presence, he didn't say anything, just sat there quietly.

Sensing he wasn't in a talking mood, she flopped gracelessly onto her bottom and continued her quiet study of his face.

She'd imagine he was quite handsome before everything that happened to him, but it looked like the stress had aged him prematurely, his beardy scruff frosted with silver, his hair threaded with grey as well. The fine lines any man would have were beginning to deepen, most notably the worry lines of his forehead and by his mouth.

Looking down at the hand that dangled over his bent knee, she spied the youth that he once had. It only seemed to remain in his hands.

His blue eyes were on her, before his head even turned and Mary Elizabeth fought the urge to abandon her mission, drawing her mouth in a grim, set line and returning his gaze, before losing courage and turning her head to face the wall before them.

She imagined she could liken her mission to the mouse and the lion parable, but Mr. Grimes reminded her more of a wolf at the moment than a lion.

"I'm not crazy," he growled.

Mary Elizabeth drew her knees to her chest, maybe it was a form of protection, and maybe she was just trying to get comfortable, she wasn't sure. But maybe Mr. Grimes did scare her a little, but not because of his mental state, but because she didn't know how to comfort him.

"Sanity is relative to the situation," she offered softly.

"We can't rush into trust with people," he went on after heaving a weary sigh. "We can only trust us and our people. I can't lose any more of them."

Eyeing his hand, she wondered if she could take it, to give him comfort in some manner, but as her own hand began to shift, heading to take it, Rick shifted and she dropped her hand quickly back to her side.

"Us, used to be your people and ours," she reminded him. "We became stronger when we became a 'we'."

Rick was quiet.

"Allies are much better than enemies, aren't they?" She went on tentatively.

"Not all groups are soldiers and nuns," he returned darkly. "People are dangerous, vile men intent on watching the world burn."

"I've been thinking about that," she admitted softly, "about this new fellow and the lady and child who came with him. And, if he's so bad, then why do they care so much about him? They seem like good people, the woman and child, why would they be so loyal to a man who rapes and kills? He may come off as abrasive and loud mouthed, but…I believe they see good in him, something we don't because we're afraid or suspicious."

Rick was silent.

"As I recall Mr. Merle was the same way when he first woke up in the infirmary…but look at him now? He's taking an interest in people, helping us, protecting us. I know you and he don't care for one another, I don't fully understand that back story, but I think he's good and I think this new man could be good too. He doesn't have to stay, he seems to have no interest in staying, but he could be more help to us alive and an ally, then dead in ditch."

Mr. Grimes turned his blue eyes on her again.

"We just have to be cautious with him, until he's earned our trust, it's harder this way, but nothing worth doing is easy."

"No offence, Sister," Rick drawled. "But all that's coming out of your mouth are words. They mean nothing to me."

Mary Elizabeth blinked, wrapping her arms around her legs and resting her cheek on the tops of her knees.

Rick gazed off, back towards the wall.

After the longest time, Rick cleared his throat. "I keep thinking about the garden hose back home."

Mary Elizabeth gave him her full attention.

"A day or two before I was shot, Lori asked me to fix the spigot, it was leaking, she was scared it was going to wash out her iris bed." He rubbed his eyes wearily with the heels of his hands. "I don't know why I keep thinking about it."

"Maybe because you don't like to leave things unfinished?" She suggested.

Sighing heavily, Rick shoved his hair back off his face and nodded. "Okay, we'll try mercy. But the next person or group that hurts mine, I will burn to the ground and salt the earth where they've walked."

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****Sister Mary Agnes****

He was lingering in the doorway to the kitchen as she mopped the floor quietly, head bent to her work.

Sister Mary Agnes knew full well Merle was standing there, but she chose to ignore him for the moment, finishing her work quietly and efficiently, before dropping the mop back into the bucket and looking up at him, wiping her hands on the heavy white canvas apron she wore over her casual clothes.

"Mr. Dixon, can I help you?" She eyed him.

"Tell me something, Sister," he began gruffly, setting the freshly skinned rabbits on the kitchen table. "What the hell did I do to deserve all this shit dumped upon me?"

She smiled serenely and set about making use of the meat, wiping the table off with a rag and calmly setting the rabbits onto the kitchen counter by the sink to slice up for dinner. Dipping her hands into the bucket of water she was planning on using for washing them and soaping up quietly. "By 'shit' I'm assuming you mean the responsibility of taking charge of the place while everyone is either gone or laid up in the infirmary?"

"I don't care about these people…much. I ain't no leader, personally there's about four of five of these assholes I'd like to kill myself," he went on, moving to hop up onto a kitchen counter.

"Yes you are and no there aren't," she stated. "You're just puffing up your chest, and believe me, Merle, I'm pretty sure you have no clue about the role you play these days."

"I have a good goddamned clue," he replied. "I just don't like where it's heading. Too much responsibility and you crack like ol' Rick."

"And not enough and you'd get resentful," she argued. "I know your type, Merle. You tell the world you hate it, before it can hate you first. You're afraid of forming attachments and fondness for people. But the fact of the matter is you have formed attachments here. And you know something? I think you're doing a good job of looking out for us so far. You kept your head about you today and I've never been prouder of anyone for not getting into an easy fight."

He snorted. "Yeah well, maybe I'm sick of fighting. Break my nose once more and I may not be as handsome as I am."

Mary Agnes beamed at his boyish grin and nodded. "Maybe you're tired of hating the world."

"Well," he replied, "I will say that little girl is full of spunk and I like her enough."

Smiling at her work, she didn't notice Merle move across the room until he was hauling himself up onto the counter beside her.

"And I like Carol, she's good as kin," he went on.

"And you like the Lieutenant," she added.

Merle was quiet for a moment. "Well, he's a dumb ass, but…my baby bro seems to idolize him for some stupid reason. So I guess…maybe I wouldn't kill him."

They fell into a companionable silence as she worked and he stewed over his inner turmoil.

"I like you," he admitted after a moment.

"I'm honoured I made the list," she replied with a small, cat-like grin flashed in his direction.

"You should be," he said, "it's a very short list."

She chuckled.

"So, I made you proud, huh?" He asked with a playful tone.

"Of course you did."

"Well, if that's not a solid start to winning your affections, I don't what would be," he stated.

Eyeing him, Mary Agnes decided he was teasing her. "Last I heard, Merle, you were chasing after Sister Joan. What happened? Thought a full figured older woman might be easier prey?" She joked.

"I like you better," he rasped in a rough whisper.

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****Sister Joan****

Taking her work on guard duty very seriously, she didn't miss a thing that moved within her field of vision, which was how she noticed the young Grimes boy moving up to stand beside her outside the infirmary door.

Sister Joan glanced his way, before returning her eyes to the convent lawns.

"I saw a deer this morning," she pointed out quietly. "I'm glad Merle didn't find her while he was out hunting."

Carl was quiet.

"I think sometimes even though we need the meat to survive, even the animals deserve to get away from near death. A chance at survival."

"You should have shot the deer," Carl replied evenly. "We could have used the meat."

"Kill everything and there'll be nothing left to hunt next year," she returned.

"Kill nothing and we die," he stated. "I don't really care for going hungry and I'm sure the others don't either."

"We kill enough to get by," she said.

Carl was silent again.

"When I was a little girl I saw a man die," she began. "I was riding my bike by a building that was being constructed and this man suddenly just dropped nearby. It was just that easy, like a sack of flour falling. Things like that linger with you."

"I shot my mom," Carl stated. "And I'd do it again if I had to with any one of you."

"Being hard these days is fine for survival, Carl," Joan said. "But being merciful and sensible can bear huge rewards."

"That's bullshit," Carl snarled. "God is a lie and your mercy is the stupidest thing I've ever heard of. Mercy makes you weak and I'd rather kill someone then watch another person die."

"We're not your enemies, though," she argued. "We're the closest you have to family."

"My dad and Judith are the closest I have to family!" Carl shouted. "And you're all just bringing us down with you! Everyone's fucking pathetic! My mom died because my dad was trying too hard to protect other people when he should have been protecting her!"

Joan spied Rick approaching and drew her mouth in a grim line, the man looked like he was about to finally snap the tether on his son.

"Carl," he called.

The young man turned to face him.

"I think we should talk."

Sister Joan nodded to Rick, as Carl stormed off, heading away from his father.

Rick stood for a moment, before storming after the boy.

"What do you figure?" Father O'Rourke called softly from the wall, squatting down to talk to her.

She moved towards it, still keeping an eye on the infirmary. "Rick'll talk some sense into him."

"Or I'll have to perform an exorcism," the priest added with a sly grin.

"Father!" She scolded with a grin.

"Hey, I could use the practice, Sister," he replied, pushing to his feet and walking off like a black cat prowling the stone barrier, gun slung over his shoulder like a soldier on patrol.

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****Sister Mary Claire****

"I don't think the Mother…I mean Grace would approve of this," she argued.

Up in the bell tower, the two men who should rightly be in the infirmary recuperating were seated among a treasure trove of guns, Daryl Dixon cleaning them calmly, the Lieutenant taking a cat nap propped up in a nest of camo netting and old army fatigues they had taken from the base during their raid.

"Why?" The youngest Mr. Dixon grunted. "We're not doing anything strenuous."

"Lieutenant," she tried reasoning with the soldier.

The man opened one eye and smirked. "Well, they're going to be mad at us anyways, Sister. May as well enjoy the fresh air while we're breaking rules."

"Besides," Daryl argued. "These guns have been sitting up here for weeks waiting to be cleaned and put into service, no one's taken the task, may as well do something useful."

Mary Claire had never fully understood men, she supposed it was because she was raised by a single mother before being put into that all girl's home, but still she was sure what they were doing was registered in their minds as wrong, so why couldn't they understand that they shouldn't be doing it?

"Why do you always make trouble for the Mother Superior, Lieutenant?" She asked.

"Because it stirs the demon within."

"If she comes back and finds you sunning yourself like a fat housecat—"

"Fat?" The Lieutenant demanded, mildly perturbed by her word choice. Patting his bare, trim stomach, he smirked. "That's pure military muscle."

"Naw, she's got a point, Fay, you do kind of look like a bloated, hairless cat lying over there in the sun." Daryl pointed out.

"Yeah?" The Cajun glanced down at his stomach. "Well, maybe a little bit…I'll do some yoga or something when I get a chance. Tone up a little, yeah?"

"You're both mocking me," Mary Claire stated.

"A little," the Lieutenant replied. "Come. Sit in the sun with me, Sister. It's kind of nice slobbing around like a lazy toad."

"You know something, Lieutenant, I swear you live just to torment the Mother Superior," Mary Claire stated, moving to stand at the railing of the bell tower to peer out across the distance of tree tops.

"Really?" He asked like a proud little boy. "Think she's noticed?"

"And what about Carol?" She asked, glancing over her shoulder at Daryl. "Think she might be a little disappointed?"

The scruffy man stopped and eyed her. "Carol knows I don't listen to reason," he said.

"That's right, he's a Dixon."

"Fuck you, dumb ass," the man growled.

"Love you too, brother."

Mary Claire stopped listening to the children argue as she spied the two women in question driving up the trail with the others. At least she hoped the others were there, she couldn't tell yet.

"You two better find a good hiding spot," she said. "Carol and the Mother Superior are back."

"Grace, _beb_, please," the Lieutenant corrected, pushing to his feet carefully, still moving like an old man.

Daryl moved to stand beside her too, watching the vehicle drive up.

"Don't look no fuller then when they left," he remarked.

"Come on, _cabri_," the Lieutenant said. "Best face the music, yeah?"

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**The Voodoo Dialect**

**Damballah** - Damballah, or Damballah-Wedo, is the Great Serpent. He is also sometimes referred to as Da. He represents the ancestral knowledge of Voodoo, the pure faith. He is the sky-serpent, the wise and loving father. His main focus is on things that are pure, beautiful, and good. His color is white, and he is often symbolized by snake eggs. The ritual language of voodoo, which sounds much like a hissing snake, is derived from Damballah's own language. He responds to offers of pure white foods (cornmeal, olive oil, cake, champagne, white wine, milk, powdered sugar, eggs), and his ritual sacrifice is a pair of white chickens. He tries to explain to his devotee's that wisdom, knowledge, and understanding are the keys to happiness. He doesn't communicate well, as though his wisdom were too aloof for us. Dumballah does not communicate exact messages, but seems to radiate a comforting presence which sort of sends a general spirit of optimism into all people present.

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**Many lovely reviews, keeping this short! You're all lovely, beautiful human beings. Keep on being your wonderful selves, kiddos!**


	17. Maman Brigitte

**Friendly reminder that the cover art for this was done by the deliciously talented Merle's Right Hand. You can find a link to her art blog on my profile page. Check her stuff out, it's so worth it.**

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**Chapter Seventeen: Maman Brigitte**

****Old Missy****

When they pulled into the convent grounds through the gate, she was the first one out, moving to the back to help Michonne with Mr. Mamet as the man lay still in the back of the truck.

She stepped out of the way as Father O'Rourke and that young man from Woodbury swooped in to help the man, wiping at her sweat and soot covered brow, smearing the abomination blood into the mix.

It had taken her about ten minutes of riding in the truck before she had calmed down enough at least dry all traces of the tears she had shed from her eyes, thankfully the rest of the ride was long enough that the red puffiness had disappeared. She didn't want anyone else to see how shaken she was from the ordeal.

Watching as Mr. Mamet was carefully moved from the truck, she felt a new wave of regret and tears wash over her, but held it back, firmly setting her chin, refusing to allow anyone to see her cry anymore.

A tall redwood of a man moved to stand beside her, blocking the sun from her eyes as she glanced over at him.

He stood facing her, eyes quietly questioning.

She shook her head slightly, not at all concerned about him being up and about, still thinking of Woodbury.

Pulling the pack off her back, she handed it off to him, barely registering that he didn't have a full grip on it and releasing.

He caught it before it could hit the ground, distracted by the pack, he didn't see her colliding with him, wrapping her arms around his waist.

Recalling where she was and how many eyes were on her for strength, she tried pushing away, but he had already dropped the pack onto the soft grass and was holding her against him with his good arm, handing stroking her hair gently.

"I'm fine, Lafayette," she whispered roughly against his chest, pushing against it to free herself.

He released her cautiously, eyes narrowed with concern.

Quietly she pulled away from him, heading for the dorms quickly, not looking back once.

She had to get somewhere where she could collapse and cry, not for her, but for the people of Woodbury, for the creatures they had become, for whatever tragedy had befallen them to turn them into such things.

"Grace," Glenn greeted as she entered the dorms, she hurried on, moving towards her office, deciding she'd worry about being rude after she had a chance to fall apart.

Inside her office, she hurried to tuck herself into the dark corner by her fireplace, collapsing onto the floor and yanking off her shoes she cast them across the room, drawing her knees to her chest.

She was very much aware after a few minutes of a tall, swamp giant slipping his long form into the very tiny space she left between the hearth and herself in the corner and he sat there beside her for the longest time in silence.

"Say something," she murmured into her tear slicked knees after a moment.

Dragging his knees to his chest as well, the Cajun soldier frowned at the bookcase opposite them for the longest time, before clearing his throat and opening his mouth. He floundered for a moment, before quirking a brow. "I never knew my _Papere_ very well, he died when I was still pretty young, but I do have one fond memory of him. One day I had heard this thump at our window and I hurried outside and found this tiny little bird had flown into it and as I watched it flopped around on the ground some, then twitched and died. And I picked it up and ran inside my grandfather's garage thinking my _Papere_ could fix it, he seemed to fix everything, but he took it from me and set it on the hood of his '63 Chevy and eased down onto the old wooden chair in his garage and said 'come here, _petit boug_'. I was crying so hard he had to scoop me up and I remember sitting on his lap, he wasn't as tall as me, kind of a smaller man, but he wrapped his arms around me and kissed the top of my head and said 'Fate, there are some things in the world you can't stop or change, no matter how hard you try, some things are out of our hands'. And then he wiped my tears away with his rough hands and kissed me again on the forehead and said 'just let it go, _petit boug_, does you no good worrying about things that you can't stop'." He shrugged. "I suppose it's not that comforting, but words alone don't bring comfort, half the reason I got over that tiny, little bird was just being held by my grandfather, he was the strongest man I knew. Only man really in my youth, but he was good role model, I think. I can't offer you better words, no words, really, but I can hold you if you need it. I find sometimes that's the best way to feel safer and more certain in a world where we can't control much."

Grace cleared her throat lightly. "You just want to hold me," she stated with a slightly playful tone.

He beamed at her. "Well, yeah, but…I think you could use it right now and I'm at least good at holding people."

"I'll be the judge of that," she whispered, pushing his knees down so she could crawl into his lap, blushing a little at the intimacy. Maybe it was the fact that because of his arm, he couldn't do up the button up shirt they had given him to wear, so he left it open and she felt a little wicked about touching his bare chest while sitting on his lap.

He easily wrapped his good arm around her waist, dragging her against him without care about the intimacy, pressing kisses to her face with light, quick pecks.

Grace lay heavily against him, worn out from her day, from her tears.

"Need to talk about it?" He whispered.

She shook her head. "Not now."

If she had ever wondered why she decided to enter into a relationship with the soldier, her doubts were quelled when he – thankfully – kept silent for the duration of their stay in her office, his arm offering her more comfort than she had ever found from anything.

Not even God had given her comfort the way he did and she knew then it was why she had abandoned her vows so easily. Not because she was a heretic or a doubter, but because the soldier had been made for her. He understood her better than anyone ever had and she was sure it was God who sent him to her gate.

Maybe God really was in the little things.

Touching a hand to his chest, she pushed away from him a little, enough to peer into his eyes.

"How'd you get loose?"

There was a moment of utter stillness, where the soldier beneath her did nothing but blink, before he flashed a broad, charming grin.

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****Carol****

All in all she thought she handled things pretty good.

During the tense drive back, Grace quietly shook and sobbed pressed against the passenger door, head turned in the hopes they wouldn't notice.

But she had.

The truth was that Carol was numb to it. She'd seen worse.

When they arrived back at the convent, the first thing she noticed was Daryl and the Lieutenant out of bed, wandering from the church, heading towards the truck.

Stepping out behind Grace, Carol eyed Milton as they removed him from the back of the truck. He wasn't good, but he was still alive, she supposed that was at least something.

The fact they all made it back was some kind of miracle given the amount of walkers they had stumbled into.

She still wasn't sure how it all happened, but she figured it was one of those things that just happened and nothing short of forcing the Woodbury residents under their protection could have stopped it.

Still, the amount of child walkers they had seen, she had burned inside the hatch, was unsettling. It didn't feel right in her gut, but…well she'd seen a child walker and it was worse when it was a familiar face.

Daryl stood before her, his face grim as he took in the sight she must have presented to him.

Inhaling deeply, she quietly gripped his hand and moved off, heading for their shed to get into some decent clothes and not the hacked at habit.

It was only then that she worried that maybe she had hacked it too short in the back. Survival mode had given her no shame, but back home where she was safe, she was suddenly worried her underwear could have been flashing every time she took a step or something.

Taking a glance towards Grace and finding her safe and comfortable with the Lieutenant, Carol kept going, tugging at the shortened hem of her habit worriedly.

Pushing into their shed, she began a mad search for better clothes, knowing full well Daryl was behind her, quiet and calm.

"You alright?" He asked tentatively.

Kneeling before her bag of clothing, she stopped digging through it long enough nod. "Yeah," she said softly.

She could hear his boots on the floor, passing by her, before he squatted down at her side.

"God help me," she whispered. "But I'm glad they're dead." Turning to face him, she struggled to read his face, to gauge his reaction to her admission of suffering no guilt over the annihilation of Woodbury.

He gazed back at her with his hawk-like blue eyes.

"Does that make me a horrible person?" She asked.

"No."

Carol continued searching for clothes, her hands shaking.

"We wouldn't have been able to feed them properly come winter," she went on, explaining herself. "They would have eventually found out about what we did to their men and I think it would have been more of a difficulty for us. But we had to try, didn't we?"

Large, rough hands slipped around hers and Daryl was gently tugging her away from her pack, she didn't even realize she was aimlessly digging through her things until he did that and she saw everything was removed from the bag and she was just moving things around on the floor.

"Hey," he rasped, pulling her against him, "it'll be okay."

She buried her face into the space between his jaw and his collarbone, breathing in the scent of him, wrapping herself in the security of his arms.

"I don't want to grow cold," she confessed softly in a voice that trembled with real fear. "What if I stop caring?" She asked. "What if I become Rick?"

Daryl winced, an expression she had learned meant he was getting uncomfortable with the information he was processing. "Rick isn't cold…he's…he'll be fine."

"What if he's not? He used to be a nice man, Daryl…but lately he's been—"

"Rick's fine," Daryl insisted. "He just needs rest and to maybe step back for a bit. I can't blame him, he lost Lori and he's trying to take care of everyone. We'll take some of his burden and he'll just fine. You won't grow cold, Carol. I don't think you're built like that."

Carol sighed against his flesh. "I'm just tired," she said.

"I know," he replied. "But don't worry, you'll be alright. I won't let you go cold."

The thing Carol loved best about Daryl was when he said something, when he said everything would be fine, she believed him. There was a small part of her that believed he could do anything if he really wanted to.

And that was only one of the things she loved best about him. She needed that assurance, that confidence.

"I love you," she whispered.

Beneath her she felt every muscle in Daryl's body tense and she pulled back from him far enough to study his face and the mask of sheer terror he wore.

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****Daryl****

The Cajun was hiding among the camouflage netting in the bell tower when Daryl scurried up and he lazily opened one eye to investigate the threat level of the newcomer, before closing it again.

Eyeing the soldier quietly, before flopping back down among the guns to continue cleaning and repairing them, Daryl glared at his work.

"What are you doing up here?" Daryl snarled.

"Well, it's the safest place for now."

"Grace find out about your wandering hands?"

The Lieutenant chuckled. "Yeah…she's very, very mad. I'm honestly afraid for my life right now. Why are you up here?"

"None of your business, dumb ass," Daryl growled.

After a moment, the Cajun struggled to sit up, eyeing him with a calm, even gaze. "What'd you do, _cabri_?"

Stabbing the brush inside the barrel, Daryl took his anger out on the gun. "Nothing."

"Naw, you did something. Did you piss your woman off too?"

"No."

Now the Cajun's sharp eyes were narrowing in thought. "You get all cold and detached like you do?"

Daryl shook his head.

"What happened, Daryl?"

Glancing around quickly, Daryl scowled at the setting sun peeking through the trees, before shrugging. "She said she loved me."

"And you didn't say it back?"

"She…startled me with it." Daryl whispered, head down, ears turning red.

"Yeah, they like to do that." The Cajun sighed, scooting a little closer on his ass, dragging his netting nest with him to continue lounging while doling out advice.

"I screwed the pooch, huh?"

Tilting his head, the Lieutenant looked like he was about to argue, but settled for nodding slightly. "You didn't just screw the pooch, _cabri_, you fucked that dog in the ass without lube."

"Fuck," tossing the brush across the bell tower promenade, Daryl shoved the parts of the gun off his lap and kicked the wall beside him with the side of his foot. It hurt, but it also helped with his urge to punch something and pull his stitches out again.

"Alright, ease up on the ordnance, let's figure this out. You love her, yeah?"

Daryl scowled. "Yeah."

"But you were shocked she admitted that she loved you too, yeah?"

He nodded.

"Alright, so…what you need is a grand romantic gesture."

"I don't think so."

"Sure, yeah. Like I'll be pulling out some Captain Von Trapp moves, because I didn't really watch a lot of romance movies but that one has a nun, so…you'd need Deliverance or something, because of the redneck thing."

"Hey, how'd you like a barrel brush shoved up your ass?" Daryl snarled.

"Pretty sure Ned Beatty would have wanted that treatment after the loving he got."

Daryl eyed the man for the longest time, before frowning. "This conversation got weird, man."

"I blame it on pain. I'm in a lot of it."

After a minute of silence, Daryl asked, "so what do I do?"

The Lieutenant inhaled deeply. "Well, Carol's a sweet woman. I don't think she'd be as mad at you as you'd think. But I do believe if you love her, she has every right to know that. Time is short these days, I think you have to just let her know. Besides," he added, "she had a rough day, what she probably wants more than anything right now is to lie in your arms and get some good sleep in…or you could be in bed with her and not sleep. It's really your choice. Go with the mood."

"Maybe you should listen to your own advice, Fay." Daryl stated, pushing to his feet.

The Cajun carefully got up as well, nodding. "Yeah, maybe I will. She might tear my head from my shoulders, but…she eases the pain."

Oddly enough, Daryl understood completely what the man was saying. Carol did seem to make things better. He wasn't sure if it was the scent or the feel of her, or even the sound of her breathing as she slept at his side, but he did understand what Fay meant.

* * *

**The Voodoo Dialect**

**Maman Brigitte** - Maman Brigitte (Grann Brigitte, Manman, Manman Brigit, Manman Brijit) is a death loa, the wife of Baron Samedi. She drinks rum infused with hot peppers and is symbolized by a black rooster. It's often insinuated that she can control her husband better than anyone, because he is more afraid of her than anything. Like Baron and the Ghede, she often uses obscenities in her speech. She protects gravestones in cemeteries if they are properly marked with a cross. She has also been known to be associated with fire.

* * *

**The Cajun Dialect**

**Petit boug** – Tiny bug (it's a Cajun term of endearment often given to boys).

* * *

**Just going to address the reviews that need it from now on, I get so many lovely people reviewing and you're all special and beautiful, but to save wading, right?**

**Jodie Kay** - I know, I have a huge crush on Andrew Lincoln too. I feel where you're coming from and maybe Mary Elizabeth doesn't have a crush, but is just nervous because he can be kind of intense...I would be. ^_^

**shelly2** - Aw, your ego stroking is giving me a bloated head. ^_^ Thank you! I do try to keep them in character, though sometimes I know they step out once in a while for my own amusement...

**Brazen** **Hussy** - I'm thinking maybe...Merle does deserve to be rewarded for playing nicely with others.

**SilverWolf84** - I don't know if you're aware, but I posted something on tumblr about how Lt. Cat-Toad made my week. So thanks for that. It was delightful!

**alien-cats** - I agree with everything you said. I also think Carl is just becoming a rebellious teenager, only it's in a much more dangerous world. So instead of throwing fits over not having the latest sneakers and iPhones, he's bitching about other things.

**HaloHunter89** - No babies...yet. ^_^ Thanks for the review!

**ldyjaydin** - Hey! Look at you all caught up! Nice to hear from you again! ^_^


	18. Maman Brigitte II

**Chapter 18: Maman Brigitte II**

****Daryl****

He was making his way across the lawns from the church, when he came across Rick chasing butterflies in the middle of the ankle high grass.

Slowing, Daryl approached him quietly.

"Hey?"

Rick angled his head towards him.

"You with us?"

"Yeah, just…yeah."

The ex-cop turned to face Daryl and for the first time the youngest Dixon could see how the man had aged from the man he had been at the quarry. He looked twenty years older than he was and in desperate need for some good, solid sleep.

"The guys and I were talking earlier," Daryl began carefully. Worried he might upset the fragile looking man.

Rick swallowed thickly and shifted on his feet.

"We think you need to take a step back for your own good."

Looking around cautiously, checking his surroundings, Rick sighed. "I can't."

"You can and you will," Daryl insisted. "You need to…you need your rest, brother."

"I'm fine," Rick insisted. "I just…we need to just keep our heads down, stay hidden, stay safe."

"Yeah, I get that, man, but you have to let us shoulder some of the burden. The Lieutenant—"

"He what? The Lieutenant what? Does he want to lead? Because he's welcome to it. No one wants the responsibility, because everyone sees me doing the things they can't or won't and they don't want to become what I am," Rick snarled. "I went back to that place on the highway, I walked it for days looking for the right place where that man in our infirmary picked me up from and I counted the bodies, I retraced my steps and I counted the bodies and one was missing, so I followed him into the woods, right into the shack where he was hiding and I took a rusty blade off the wall and I hacked his head off. You think that was justice? Would you have done any different to protect our people? No, you and the Lieutenant pass your days hunting game and letting men like me do your dirty work! And then you all have the nerve to accuse me of being crazy, of being a bad father because I don't know how to talk to a teenaged son who's trying to cope with the world ending and having to kill his mother! I have to look at a baby who might not even be mine every day and you know something, _brother_? I'm sick of it. You want to shoulder the burden, fine. People will die, that's a fact. Are you ready for that to be on your head? Ask the Lieutenant how it feels losing people you're in command of? I have a feeling it's why he's been avoiding leadership."

Daryl let the man have it out, quietly standing there and being his sounding board.

"I'm not crazy," Rick insisted one last time. "I'm just acting on instinct now and my instincts tell me that if they don't belong to our pack, then they're the enemy and we destroy anything that comes into our territory."

"What about friends of our pack?"

"We don't have friends," Rick insisted.

"The Lieutenant does," Daryl said. "And old Marine buddy."

Rick nodded. "That's what everyone's keeping from me?" He demanded. "I thought it was odd whenever I asked about whether the others made it back from the mall."

"Apparently Alan didn't, but Tyreese and Andrea caught up with this group," Daryl said. "They want to meet the leader of our group, said they want to make allies."

"And the Lieutenant knows them?"

"He knows the leader."

"And?"

"He says he's a good man, gives him his seal of approval."

"Yeah," Rick sighed. "Shane was a good man too."

Daryl had never really cared much for Shane the cuckold maker, but at the mention of the man's name, he winced in sympathy for Rick. At lot of the man's irrational behaviour as of late was suddenly beginning to make sense. Time had slowed down enough for the events of last fall and the early spring to finally catch up with Rick. Everything he had done and had done to him was piling up on him without the distraction of constant survival looming over them.

Not sure what to say, usually preferring to keep his nose to himself about matters like the one he was facing, Daryl offered Rick a hand on his shoulder and a quiet.

"Get some rest, Rick. Merle's taking good care of the place while we're benched," he said.

Rick blinked. "Merle?"

"Yeah, he's…actually doing good according to people."

Rick smiled ever so. "Who would have thought?"

Daryl nodded. "I know. He's got to be doing it for booze or a woman, or both."

"Sounds like Merle," Rick replied, turning and heading for the dorms side by side with Daryl.

Parting at the door, Daryl gave the other man a quiet, encouraging look. "Get some rest, man. You'll feel better, fight harder, and be sharper."

"Yeah," Rick said. "Goodnight."

"Night."

She was sitting in their shed on the cot, with Clyde at her feet, sewing something in the near dark when he tentatively poked his head in.

Looking up, she flashed him a wide grin. "I thought maybe I scared you away for the rest of the night," she teased.

He stepped inside nervously. "Yeah, well…" he trailed off, picking at his calloused hand. "Hey—"

"It's okay," she stated with a nod. "I know you do, you don't have to say it. I did because I wanted you to know, but…I know. You're more of an actions speak louder than words type and I may have just shocked you with it."

Lingering by the door, Daryl continued to fidget, watching Carol as she worked. She was so pretty when she wasn't even trying. He liked that unlike other women she didn't need to doll herself up to be absolutely perfect, her eyes were always prettiest when they were open and honest, her mouth enticing when she was smiling softly to herself.

"Besides, I don't want you to say it because you feel obligated that I did, I want you to say it if and when you mean it," she went on.

Screwing up a little of that Dixon courage that his brother often used when it came to the ladies, Daryl moved across the shed and gripping Carol's chin tilted her head up so that he could lean down and kiss her.

His hand dropped from her chin, moving to wind around her waist, pulling her up against him.

Hissing sharply in pain, he pulled away and looked between them where the needle was stuck into his stomach.

Carol placed her hand to her mouth. "Oh God, sorry!"

"Great," he growled, "survive being shot in the damned spleen to get stabbed in the liver by a needle."

Shoving the needle into the little stuffed pillow looking thing she had in her kit, Carol tucked away the sewing quickly, shoving it into the little space between the wall of concrete blocks and their bed.

"I'm so sorry," she whispered, pushing his shirt up to survey the damage.

She thumbed away the droplet of blood that was all that remained of his wound and clamped her other hand over her mouth, trying hard not to laugh.

"Jesus, woman," he snarled, half teasing. "Don't even know how to properly gut a man."

"Are you okay?" She asked sheepishly after getting all her laughter out.

He smirked and pulled her back against him. "Yeah, I don't think I'll bleed out."

Carol wrapped her arms around him, still smiling. "I didn't mean—"

"It's alright," he replied, "you didn't succeed, so there's no worry."

She rested her forehead against his shoulder and hid her smile against him.

Holding her tightly against him, Daryl allowed himself to just enjoy the moment, to find some kind of peace with the woman. He imprinted the scent of her in his memory, associating it with the end of the world and acceptance, love and a reason to care for others.

Maybe Rick had every right to hate the world right now. Daryl didn't know what it felt like to be married, but he knew if he lost Carol like Rick had lost Lori, he wouldn't be so eager to accommodate people.

Hell, he'd go back to being that miserable little shit he used to be.

Holding Carol, Daryl thought of things past that he couldn't change, but didn't regret any less.

He thought of how he must have really terrified Carol and Sophia when he and Merle rolled into the quarry, how he should have taken the two of them then and there and protected them from Ed, he could have done it easily, Ed was a coward who only beat women and kids.

Daryl thought of Sophia and how he had threatened her at the old folks home, how Carol cried when they lost her, how hard he looked.

Maybe he should have been the one having a breakdown.

In his arms Carol shifted and he looked down to find her smiling up at him.

"You okay?" She asked sweetly.

Furrowing his brow at the woman who seemed to think he was the one who needed comforting when he was the one who had been such an ass, Daryl dipped his head. "Yeah."

"You know," she said, pulling out of his arms. "If we could maybe get one of those little camp stoves for in here, we could shelter the winter out, make it nice and cozy."

Daryl watched her flit to a corner filled with stacks of old boxes. "Grace says we could move most of these old things into the root cellar, it would free up a corner for a small stove."

"Good Lord, woman," he returned, flopping gently onto the bed, holding his wound. "It's not even summer yet and you're thinking about weathering out the winter in this shack?"

Carol beamed at him, going through the boxes idly. "Never hurts to think ahead," she said. "Besides, this isn't a shack, it's our home."

"It's a shed," Daryl growled.

"Hey, I'm very proud of our shed," she insisted. "It's got character."

"It's got rot, I'm sure."

Moving across their home, she eased onto the bed beside him and laughed. "Glenn said that when we get the time, he'll take us to that fabric store the next town over and we can pick up some things to make clothes with. I want to find something nice to make curtains out of, maybe with sunflowers or…something yellow to brighten this place up."

"Sounds like you're settling in," Daryl pointed out.

Carol eyed him quietly. "This is our home," she stated. "And I'm never leaving. No more running."

Leaning up on his elbows, he kissed her forehead. "We won't leave. As long as you want to be here, this will be ho—" he was cut off by the shaggy grey moose-dog climbing onto the narrow cot with them.

Laughing, Carol moved to accommodate the dog as Daryl grudgingly stroked the big baby's muzzle.

"Great, the Cajun gets a kid to distract his damned dog and ours likes to think it is our kid," he muttered.

******************____********************..-~-..**

* * *

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****The Lieutenant****

Ambling through the half dark, the Cajun prolonged the moment when he'd have to face Maman Brigitte and her fury, holding his wounded ribs and pacing the dark graveyard area behind the church.

He was in so much pain it nearly winded him, making it impossible to breathe properly.

The cold Georgian night air was beginning to chill him, so he decided maybe it was time to face her. He could easily charm his way out of anything, given the proper chance, but she called him on his bullshit constantly and it terrified him.

Tucking his arm against his ribs tightly, he wandered through the abandoned flower garden at the back of the dorms, heading for the back door, mindful of the unkempt vines that fell from their lattice, the thorns catching his pant legs.

Inside the kitchen was dark and he had to use his good arm to feel his way through it, avoiding the table, but slamming his hip into the corner of the counter.

"_Foutre_," he growled, sliding his arm across his torso to rub his hip as he hobbled into the hall, mindful of the chance he could really hurt himself in the dark of the dorms.

Prowling the hall like a cat, he found the dorms eerily still for once and peeked into the open rooms just to check on the inhabitants. Most of the Sisters went to bed fairly early if they weren't on wall duty, as they still got up early for their morning mass.

Pausing outside the door to Grace's room, the Lieutenant settled in the shadows as the girls went about inside chattering and settling for the night.

It was such a domestic scene that he didn't want to disturb it with getting yelled at just yet.

Or maybe a part of him was still terrified of the woman's wrath.

"My water, mommy," Annie chirped, the final sign she was tucked in and ready to sleep.

"I remember, just lie still. I'll be right back," Grace replied.

Grinning, Lafayette booked it as fast as his war torn body could manage back into the kitchens, slamming his hip into the corner of the counter again, opposite side for matching bruises. Swearing gently, he hobbled the last leg of his race to the counter, where he eased himself up beside the water jug. Perching there with a small grin, waiting for his nun.

Presently she entered with a votive in hand to light her way through the dark room.

She faltered when she spied him, before stubbornly continuing on her journey, setting the candle in the centre of the table in order to give the room some light.

Grabbing a glass, she moved towards him and the water jug, but he pulled the jug closer to his hip with his good arm.

"Oh, no you can't drink this water," he teased, "I'm pretty sure it's been poisoned. Found a bunch of cattle skeletons around it."

"Lafayette—"

"Think it was the foreman from Circle F," he whispered conspiratorially.

Grabbing the jug stubbornly, Grace poured a glass of water. "I'm not giving you anymore western novels to read."

Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out the keys he swiped and held them up for her to take by the long simple string necklace they were on. "Sorry I grazed your right breast while swiping these," he murmured apologetically.

She snatched them back and tucked them into her jean pocket.

"I know it wasn't the backseat of a LeSabre," he went one with a cheeky smirk. "But a good boy always apologizes for accidentally getting to second base without consent."

"How you even got them off past the veil is what has me stumped," she growled.

He beamed at her. "Oh, I cut it with my pocket knife when you were talking to Daryl. Made it seem like I was stroking your pretty face, which by the way was nice too, thanks for letting me do that."

Eyeing the place he had re-tied the string, Grace tsked. "You're the worst man I—"

"—don't say that," he interrupted worriedly. "It's not true."

Glancing at him apologetically, she shook her head. "No, it isn't."

Easing off the counter, he carefully arranged himself so his broken ribs wouldn't rub each other. "I'm sorry I disobeyed you," he stated like a little boy in trouble, "I won't do it again."

"Yes, you will," she stated. "I know you, Lieutenant, and you like to push your limits."

"Only with you…and Daryl because the _cabri_ is too serious."

"Do you think that's a bad thing?" She inquired. "Not laughing at the world constantly?"

Lafayette blinked at her. "If I stop smiling, _cher_, I won't ever start again."

Grace looked up at him in the near dark with eyes glittering in the flickering light of the candle and he realized he may have accidentally spilled some of his broken soul out, so he flashed a wide grin.

"You know, there's a Grand Prix parked outside," he teased.

His tiny magpie raised a hand and pressed it to his chest, over his heart and he stilled, his free hand sliding up to rest over it in order to keep it there.

"I'd kiss you now," she whispered. "But I don't think you could bend for me."

Before he could attempt it, she pulled away, leaving him bereft without her little hand against him, pinning his heart in place.

Placing her glass of water on the table by the candle, she slid a chair over roughly and mounted it, standing a little higher than eye level with him.

Lafayette beamed at her impishly. "Clever little nymph, aren't you?"

She smiled proudly at him. "Well? It's not the backseat of a Monte Carlo, but…we must make do, I'm afraid."

Wrapping his good arm around her to prevent her toppling from the chair, he leaned in and kissed her, his mouth finding hers willing and very forgiving.

Grace tiny hand moved to rest over the bandaged wound on his neck, before she wrapped both of her arms around his neck tightly, almost like she was afraid he'd pull away too soon.

He wasn't going to come up for air until his head got fuzzy and full of cotton, too interested in the taste and feel of her.

Eventually he felt her push against him gently, mindful of his wounds and he released her, hand falling to rest on the top of her bottom, just where it began to curve out from her back.

She didn't miss this touch at all, quirking a dark brow at him.

"Come to bed, Fate," she purred.

"You know if I were any other man—"

"I know, honey, I regretted it the instant I said it," she cut him off, hopping from the chair and moving it back in place. "Unluckily enough for you, there's a little girl, her doll and a dog in our bed."

"Our bed?" He asked on the way out. "I like the sound of that."

* * *

**Again, I'm just going to cover the reviews that need replies. Still grateful for every single review I get though. You guys are pretty fucking special as far as reviewers go, I appreciate that you don't nag me about minor things. I really do. ^_^**

**Merle's Right Hand** - Would you expect any less than awkward from Daryl. The poor man is a ball of uncertainty and nerves with Carol.

**Brazen Hussy** - I can assure you that I love Milton and would rather pull out my own teeth than hurt that adorable little nerdy rabbit man. And I agree with you on the last episode thing.

**HGRHfan35** - 'His little nun' is perhaps the cutest thing I've ever heard. I'm going to start using that. ^_^

**GG** - Aw! Merle does need him...Merle needs to be a pain in someone's ass...why not Milton's? XD


	19. Kalfu

**Chapter 19: Kalfu**

****Glenn****

"It's the Lieutenant's meeting," Merle said. "I think he should pick the four who will be going with him."

"Is he even up for the trip?" Michonne asked.

The group's 'elders' had all been called to a meeting in the dining room of the convent and to Glenn's shock he was asked to attend as well. For the longest time he was beginning to think Maggie had been right, that he was doomed to be middle management.

Still he felt like he shouldn't be there, sitting quietly somewhere in the middle of the table, eyeing the grain of the wood.

"I've been told that this man, Delgado, can be trusted completely," Grace said. "He'll be fine for the trip there and back, but after that he gets some rest."

"The longer we wait, the more suspicious he'll be getting," the Cajun said. "I think it's best to meet with him sooner than later."

"So who are you taking, then?" Sasha asked.

"Well, I thought you'd like to go and get your brother back," he began.

She nodded. "Thank you."

The Lieutenant nodded. "And, Michonne, if she wants."

The woman nodded.

"Glenn?"

Glenn looked up from the table. "Really?"

"Yeah, unless you don't—"

"No, yeah, sure. I could take in some new scenery." He said, trying hard to keep his hopeful puppy tone to a minimal cool level. The truth was he was kind of excited to hang out with the 'cool' kids for once. He never got to do that in high school being that he was the nerd they usually ignored.

The Lieutenant chuckled. "And Grace will be going with us."

"Why her?" Rick asked.

"Because I want you here and she needs to get used to being outside the walls. If she's going to start going out I'd rather it be under my watch." The Lieutenant said.

"You don't want me here," Rick argued. "You just don't want me _there_."

"You're right, Rick. Lately you've been on the edge and I don't want that kind of drama at this meeting."

"It'll be fine," Herschel said from his spot at the table. "I'm sure the Lieutenant will debrief us all when he returns."

"Thank you, Herschel," the Lieutenant said.

"So what are you hoping to accomplish with this meeting anyways?" Karen asked.

Glenn had to admire the woman, her people were all but wiped out just the day before and she was still in a semi reasonable, coherent state.

"Well, it'd be nice to make some friends."

"Besides," Sasha added. "They had a farm set up. We might be able to work a trade deal with them for fresh produce."

"Like what?"

"Milk, eggs, who knows what they had going on there," Merle said.

"What would we have to offer in a trade, though?" Carol asked.

"The only thing we have an abundance of is nuns," Merle replied, turning to Grace with a grin. "What do you say, Sister? Take one for the team?"

"Merle!" Sasha exclaimed.

Glenn covered a smirk with his hand, watching as Grace with all the elegance and mien her name afforded her, eyed the oldest Dixon brother quietly and evenly with her sharp blue eyes until the man began to shift uncomfortably in his chair. Only then did she slowly drag her eyes away from him, turning back to the Lieutenant and nodding for him to continue.

The soldier smirked proudly and went on. "We can go through our supplies, see what we can spare. But we'll worry about that if and when they give us the go ahead to form an alliance."

"You think they won't want an alliance?" Herschel asked.

"You never know," the Lieutenant said. "I'm not going to stick all my eggs into one basket, but the chances of them rejecting us as allies are very slim. Delgado and I go way back and knowing him he's more likely to want to turn over command of his people to me than fight us."

"Would you take command?" Grace demanded.

"Are they all military, Merle?" Carol asked.

"Hell I don't know, the head guy looked military, you can't tell with women in the military these days, so his back up could have been."

Glenn studied the way Grace looked mildly panicked with a constriction of his heart. He could tell she didn't want the Lieutenant joining up with the military again.

Smiling reassuring at her, then others, the Lieutenant went. "The military is long gone, I won't be joining up with anyone in uniform ever again," he said. "It's more than likely, Delgado thinks the military still exists in some form and like a good Marine he wants to report in for duty to a CO."

"Do you think there still could be a military?" Rick asked.

"No, if any pockets of the armed forces exists, its splinter cells and squadrons of men trying to pick a life out of the remnants, but I don't think we have to worry about soldiers any time soon."

Glenn spied Grace taking hold of the Lieutenant's hand under the table and felt that familiar sting of pain that came with remembering Maggie.

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After gearing up, checking his ammo count and his emergency survival gear, Glenn ducked into the dorms in the search of the Lieutenant. He found him perched on Annie's cot, where the little girl was struggling to tie the laces on the Lieutenant's boots.

"Can I come too?" She chirped, working hard at getting the laces right.

Stopping outside the door to the room where Annie usually slept with her doll and dog, Glenn waited patiently to speak with the soldier.

"Well, not this time, but maybe there'll be other times," the Lieutenant said, eyeing Annie's work. "Through, put it through…good girl."

"You think there'll be kids?"

"Oh, I don't know, boo."

"I hope so." Finishing up, Annie beamed proudly and hopped onto the bed to wrap her arms around the Cajun. "There. I think that's right."

Sliding his good arm around the little girl, Glenn could see the Lieutenant grinning widely and smiled too. It looked like the man genuinely enjoyed the hug. Spying Glenn in the doorway, the Lieutenant unwound his arm and poked Annie on the tip of her nose. "Why don't you go and fill the canteen with water for me?"

The little girl launched herself off the bed and unhooked the beaten canteen from the Lieutenant's pack, scampering past Glenn with it in hand and her dog at her heels.

"Hi, Mr. Glenn!" She chirped on her way past.

"Hey, kid," he returned, finding the spot where Annie was already empty, the child long gone with the canteen. Turning back to the room, Glenn nervously smiled at the soldier. "Sorry."

"It's fine, what's the problem?"

"I…uh, just wanted to thank you for, I guess, picking me, maybe? I kind of thought maybe you'd be taking Merle or Daryl instead. So, thanks." He was sure why he was nervous, but it felt like talking to the cool kid in high school all over again.

"Well, aside from Michonne who's a powerhouse scrapper, I wanted people who could be diplomatic. We're trying to makes friends and I like your attitude when it comes to people."

Suddenly Glenn was more nervous than ever, he swallowed thickly. "Wow, you've given this some thought."

"Almost like I've been trained to think tactically," the Lieutenant replied with a crooked grin. "Don't worry, Glenn, you're a good man and a damned good fighter. It's time you showed the others how you do things, yeah?"

"Yeah." Glenn licked his bottom lip. "Yes, sir."

"You know, Glenn," the man began, shifting on his feet. "I didn't want to say anything, because I knew you'd felt like I was belittling you pain, but…I know what it's like to lose someone you love. I'm not talking about a mother or father. I mean…it's different when it's a lover."

Glenn bowed his head and took a step back.

"The pain never completely leaves, but it gets better. _You_ get better. You pull yourself together and move on and sometimes it's nice to remember, but it's damned hard to forget. Don't look forward to the day you stop suffering, because when it comes you'll know you're dead." Gripping Glenn's shoulder, the Lieutenant bowed down as much as he dared to with his ribs and eyed him. "You're doing good, Glenn. Every day you're up and about, helping out, walking the wall. You're one of the most unappreciated, hardest working members of this group. You'd make a damned fine soldier, _loutre_."

"Did you just insult me in Cajun?" Glenn asked worriedly.

The Lieutenant laughed. "Naw, I called you a _loutre_," the man paused looking for the right word in English, "ah, otter. River otter, because you're fast and smart. Also you kind of look like one."

"Thank you? I guess."

"Ain't nothing wrong with being like an otter," he pointed out. "They're energetic and fun creatures capable of finding food in the harshest of conditions."

"You…know a lot about otters," Glenn pointed out.

"Yeah, well…National Geographic, you know. It's, ah, an informative read."

"Sure."

Clapping Glenn hard on the shoulder, the Cajun chuckled. "Alright then, you ready to go?"

"Yeah."

"Okay, I'll meet you out there, I have a few things to finish up with in here," he motioned to Annie returning with a dripping wet canteen and Grace on her heels trying to dab up the water from the floor with a rag.

Quietly studying the tall, lanky soldier, Glenn was very aware of why the man rose in ranks in the military. He actually made Glenn feel good for the first time in months. It was nice to feel calm and capable again.

He was only aware that he was lingering when Grace held up a roll of duct tape to the Cajun with a smile and the soldier eyed it warily.

"I hope that's not to shut me up with, magpie," the Lieutenant teased.

Grace chuckled. "If I have to," she teased.

Nodding to the both of them, Glenn turned and wandered off, not entirely sure what the duct tape was for, but pretty sure he didn't want to know.

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* * *

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"She's cute."

Stepping out of the dorms, Glenn spied Beth and that new young man from Woodbury lingering in the shade, Beth holding Judith in her arms, bouncing the baby gently.

Glenn eyed the man. It was hard not to hold some suspicions of him and his people, even harmless seeming people like Milton Mamet. It didn't help that his time in Woodbury wasn't all sunshine and lollipops like Andrea's had been.

"Yeah, she's pretty quiet too," Beth replied.

Heading towards them, not sure if it was out of a sense of lingering duty to Maggie or just because of his suspicious attitude, Glenn decided he'd break them up politely. Send the boy on his way.

"It's alright, son," Herschel said from a spot in the shade nearby where he was sitting with the old woman from Woodbury on a couple of lawn chairs.

Glenn paused.

"Sorry," he said. "I didn't think you'd want—"

"Believe me," Herschel said. "I have my eye on them."

The old woman – Mrs. Douglas – chuckled warmly. "Even in the end times teenagers will always be teenagers."

"Sometimes they don't even have to be teenagers," Herschel adding, fixing a sparkling, playful look on Glenn.

He felt himself flush sheepishly, face growing hot to the tips of his ears. "Well…times being what they are. Live for the moment, I guess."

"Fall hard and fast," Mrs. Douglas added with a kind smile. "That's what I always believed, even before things went to hell."

Glenn didn't know what to really think in relation to love in the days of the walkers anymore, so he kept quiet, allowing Herschel and Mrs. Douglas to reminisce about days gone by, standing in the shade, watching Beth and the young man –Noel, was it? – coo over Judith.

"—it's the ones you don't expect who flourish under these conditions," Herschel stated.

He had missed the first bit, but Glenn tuned back in on the conversation easing against the wall of the dorms.

"It's like after a funeral, you can always tell the character of a person when someone the love dies by how the act at the funeral," the old man went on. "These are the days that bring out the best and worst of us. Prime example," he said, nodding his head towards Carol and Daryl standing around the truck as the others gathered to say goodbye to the group heading on a mission of diplomacy. "When that boy came around my farm, I didn't trust him to turn my back on him. Thought he'd rob us blind. Now I wouldn't trust anyone more to have my back."

"He does look a little rough around the edges," Mrs. Douglas said.

"That's the polished version," Herschel replied. "That boy once looked like an absolute back alley mutt."

"Watch the step!" Grace exclaimed as Annie came bounding out of the dorms, her arms wrapped around the Lieutenant's pack, her face hidden behind it.

Glenn hurried to catch Annie before she could face plant off the stoop of the dorms, setting her upright and on her way as Grace and the Lieutenant emerged from the building. He noticed the soldier was free from his sling, but kept his arm to his side tightly.

"You two come back safe," Mrs. Douglas said.

"How little faith you put in me, _beb_," the Lieutenant said to the woman.

"When I met you, Lieutenant, you were holier than a relic, no offence, Sister."

Grace smirked. "None taken."

"Son, clear something up for me," Herschel began in that way he had that said he was about to drop some deep grandfatherly wisdom. "Why didn't you pick Daryl to go with you? I thought you two were inseparable."

The Lieutenant beamed broadly. "Say it like that, Herschel, and people will begin to think we're dating."

"Humour me," Herschel replied with a small grin.

"Daryl needs to recover and between you me and the wall I think Rick could use the company while we're gone, you know? I wasn't sure who was closest to him, but Daryl seemed like the right choice."

"I think you may have bet on the wrong pony," Herschel said. "Daryl's a good man, but emotions aren't really his thing."

"Rick doesn't need emotion right now," the Lieutenant argued. "He needs to be distracted from leading for a while."

"That's not going to be easy," Glenn said.

"No…but it's gotta be done.

"My arms are getting tired," Annie complained from the soldier's side where she was still holding his pack.

Grace swooped in and took the pack from her with a gracious smile and a soft 'thank you', while the Cajun laughed and fixed his attention on Glenn. "You ready to go, then?"

"Yeah. Yes, sir." Glenn replied, not entirely sure why he did that. The man kind of scared him into it, maybe. Soldiers and authority figures sometimes did that to him.

Chuckling, the Cajun nodded. "Alright, _loutre_, let's head out then. Annie, you be good for Mrs. Douglas, don't bring dishonour on your house, yeah?"

"I won't!" The girl exclaimed sounding almost insulted that he would even insinuate such a thing.

"You be careful, Glenn." Herschel said.

He nodded. "I will." Hesitating, he raised his hand to both Herschel and Mrs. Douglas. "Bye."

"Don't bring dishonour on your house," Annie ordered.

Glenn smiled as he heard the Lieutenant cackling in the background.

"I'll try not to." He offered the little girl.

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**The Voodoo Dialect**

**Kalfu** - (Carrefour, Kalfou) Kalfu too controls the crossroads. Actually, were it not for him the world would be more rational, a better place. But, not unlike Pandora in Greek religion and myth, Kalfu controls the evil forces of the spirit world. He allows the crossing of bad luck, deliberate destruction, misfortune, injustice. Kalfu controls the malevolent spirits of the night. Yet Kalfu can control these evil spirits too. He is strong and tall, muscular. People do not speak in his presence. When he mounts a person everyone at the service stops speaking because he allows evil loa to come to the ceremony. He claims that most of the important loa know him and he collaborates with them. Kalfu says that some people claim he is a demon but he denies this. He is a respected loa and he is not liked much. He has knowledge of the human condition and develops ways to help individuals cope with their problems. He has experience dealing with all kinds of people. Kalfu is a magician and likes to use tree leaves in his magic. He has the ability to change people into animals and then control their minds.

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**The Cajun Dialect**

**Loutre** – River otter

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**Quote Credit**

"Don't look forward to the day you stop suffering, because when it comes you'll know you're dead." – Tennessee Williams

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**Yazzy x** - I've been giving poor Daryl some grief lately, huh? I should give him a nice cuddling scene later...to make up for the torment.

**Yulya18** - You're very welcome! Thank you for not only enjoying it, but reviewing it as well! I hope good things come your way! ^_^

**alien-cats** - Never worry about long winded reviews. Those are often my favourites! Thanks for them!

**HGRHfan35** - I say this without an ounce of sarcasm, but I'm glad when you quote my story in your reviews, because I often catch mistakes and I am able to fix them before moving on! Thanks for that! XD

**Princess Cruella** - In all honesty it's reviews like yours that remind me why I love writing silly fanfiction for beautiful people! Thank you so much, you made my day with your sweet review. I hope you have a wonderful day! ^_^

**You're all wonderful reviewers! I mean it, but I'm going to have to start cutting back to the reviews that need replying. I apologize, don't think this in any way means I don't appreciate every single beautiful review I get. You lovely people!**


	20. Damballah II

**Okay, first and foremost, I want to apologize to those of you enjoying this story. I've been taking a shit kicking in real life lately, but that's neither here nor there. For this week, at least, I'll be uploading as much as I can. And don't worry, I'll never abandon this story, it's my pride and joy in a shitstorm of life right now, so it will be updated and finished.**

**Thanks to all of you who expressed concern for me, it was very kind of you and I actually feel better just from your support.**

**Sorry it's a Rick chapter, but the show must go on. ^_^**

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**Chapter Twenty: Dumballah II**

****Rick****

Standing on the front steps of the church, he could see most of the convent grounds, eyeing those moving on the wall, counting heads over and over just to be sure all who should be accounted for were present.

Carl sat on the wall, just to the east of him, glaring holes into anyone who dared get near him and as much as Rick bartered, commanded, pleaded and downright asked him to come down to talk, the boy just sat there, pissed off at the world.

Under the watchful eye of Sister Mary Agnes, who had been put in charge of protecting the peace from him, Rick moved about the grounds idly.

He had been running, fighting, struggling for survival for so long that he forgot how to take it easy. His limbs twitched for some kind of action, the back of his neck itched with the sense of constant danger. Danger for those at the convent with that scruffy man and his shifty eyes sleeping peacefully in his cot in the infirmary, danger for those heading out to meet up with this new group, but mostly general danger. He knew Murphy's Law was a bitch, especially when it didn't take much for a place to get overrun.

Drumming his fingers against his thigh, just beside his .357, Rick sighed heavily and worked a kink from his neck. There had to be something he could do, this standing around, milling about waiting for trouble to happen was going to drive him insane.

He took one last, good look at the convent, the windows that had been boarded up from the last walker outbreak, the ramshackle way the lawn had fallen into disarray, overgrown and browning in patches. The flower beds that heralded only weeds and wild yarrow.

Running a hand through his hair, he paused to force down the urge to head out loaded for bear, instead choosing to simply head out with his python, hopping the eastern wall, heading towards a farmhouse he knew wasn't far off through the woods.

Sister Mary Agnes called after him in mild panic, but he ignored her, marching through the trees and out of sight.

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It took him about five good trips, loaded down with a toolbox and such, before he gently dropped an old storm window down onto the grass on the outside of the convent wall.

If he had the time tomorrow he'd head into the nearby town, back to the home and garden store to see if they had any bundles of shingles he could salvage to fix the roofs before the autumn rains set in. If Georgia caught the tail end of a hurricane (which became only heavy thunderstorms by the time it reached them) as it had only a couple of years ago, shingles would keep a lot of the cold, damp out. He supposed if they planned on stubbornly staying at the convent, he couldn't let it fall in disrepair. They'd have to start taking very careful care of the buildings, rot and mold could easily set in and undermine any of the walls.

Of course, he recalled with a wry tilt of his head, Shane was the one who taught him this. In all honesty Rick was worse than useless when it came to DIY. He could hammer nails, but that was about it as far as his expertise came in.

But he knew enough from his father to know how the basics worked. Windows could be toed in, silicone sealed, painted, shingles were tucked up and under, nailed with wide headed, short roofing nails and everything else would be a learning experience.

Besides, at least it would keep his hands busy, and the other men didn't seem to have much time to bother with the minor details.

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He was halfway through fixing the screen on a window in the backdoor of the dorms, when he realized there was an odd calm to doing something that didn't involve guns or walkers.

Those on the wall kept wandering by, nodding in greeting to him as he worked, and he found it an odd comfort knowing they had enough people on the wall, circling, to keep at least give him a decent enough head's up should any large herds come their way and his hands were busy, which seemed to trick his mind into believing he was doing something.

Well, he was doing something, he supposed. With the screen repaired the sisters could keep the inner back door open again at night, allowing a cooling cross breeze to flow through the dorms, relieving those inside on hot Georgian nights.

He wondered if anyone would really notice his hard work and the smashed thumb he suffered for it.

Not that he wanted the praise, but the damned convent seemed so busy, people everywhere, never really time for anyone to notice the small things.

Glancing to his left, he spied Daryl moving slowly to the well pump, still not up to being about from the infirmary cot yet, but stubbornly moving around as best he could. From the looks of it, he had just finished helping his brother clean Merle's catch of the day as he splashed water on his bloody hands.

The scruffy Dixon jerked his chin in greeting to him, as Rick left the door for the time being and ambled towards him.

"Merle says the game's running thin around here," Daryl greeted, washing his combat knife off with water as well. "Might have to start going across the river, see if it's any better over there. At the very least we could plan a fishing trip to the river itself before fall, catch enough fish to can for winter. Always fish in the river."

"Yeah."

Taking in the hammer in his hand, Daryl squinted thoughtfully at him. "You busy?"

"Just fixing some things around here," he replied, glancing around as Sister Mary Claire passed by on the wall.

"The place has kind of gone to hell, huh?" Daryl went on.

Rick knew the man was horrible at small talk, but he appreciated the effort on Daryl's part. He had come a long way from the scrappy, smart mouthed asshole he was when Rick met him at the quarry.

"Used to be real nice," Daryl said, pointing to the flower garden behind the dorms. "Some roses back there, statues and shit, fucking birdbath that I rammed my balls into in the dark."

Picturing Daryl Dixon, in the dark of night, out on patrol, sacking himself on a birdbath brought a faint twinkle to Rick's eyes. He imagined that the sisters didn't think much of men running into a birdbath in their garden when they put it there at the right height, in the right position to cause harm.

"Hey," Daryl said, "let me finish washing up and I'll give you a hand."

Rick sized him up. He looked like a good gust of wind would knock him over, but he also looked as anxious as he was to do something, anything. Daryl wasn't really the type to sit around if he could help it, but a gunshot to the spleen, well Rick figured Daryl could at least keep him company of sorts. "You can hand me things, looks about all you're up to doing."

"Couple more days," Daryl said, "and I'll be ready to jump back into it."

"You think Carol might have something to say about that?" Rick asked.

"She don't own me," the younger man argued.

"You telling me you aren't scared of a pissed off Carol Peletier?"

Shifting on his feet, Daryl touched a hand to his side, covering his wound gingerly.

"That's what I thought," Rick replied.

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They worked quietly and more quickly with Daryl helping out. Thankfully, he seemed to know what he was doing, but also seemed to realize his limits to an extent, finding it easier for him to take breaks now and then, huffing out deep breaths in mild agony.

"I suppose we'll replace this fucking window," Daryl grunted as they replaced one of the ones from in the infirmary with one from the farmhouse that fit the frame better than any of the other broken windows around the place. "And some asshole walkers'll come and knock it out again."

"Well, if they don't, this window will be better come winter then unsealed plywood." Rick replied, holding the window in place while Daryl secured it properly.

While dropping extra nails he didn't need into the little tobacco can the farmer kept them in, Daryl eyed him and eased down onto the grass under the window to rest in the shade, holding his side. "You thinking we'll be here long enough for winter?"

"God willing," Rick said, not so much religiously, but as something his father used to say.

Rick had the distinct feeling Daryl was eyeing him now and then as he finished the last bit of the work. The Dixon was searching for something to say or perhaps a starting off point for something he was trying to get at.

"I think," Rick started, clearing his throat, "we should see about maybe building another house somewhere on the grounds before winter. We're getting cramped as it is, maybe we could push our walls a bit, gain a little more breathing room."

Daryl dipped his head in agreement.

"Get some building supplies from that home and garden. It doesn't have to be a fancy building, just some rooms and beds."

"Before he went off to Woodbury, Carol said Milton was talking about maybe rigging up some kind of solar generator for us," Daryl said, pushing to his feet again. "Indoor plumbing would be nice at least, for the ladies."

"And some men," Rick added.

They worked in silence again, Daryl casting quick, studying looks at Rick with his sharp eyes.

"You looking to the future here," he asked.

"Thinking ahead," Rick agreed. "If we're going to be here, then we make this our home and burn anyone who even breathes wrong in our territory. We protect our own."

"You won't hear arguments from me on that," Daryl said, rubbing his scruff. "But," he trailed off.

"But?" Rick urged.

"The sisters would probably argue that we should show some mercy at least."

"And?"

"It's hard to say, we have to be cold sons-a-bitches in order to survive, but I've been thinking about Dale lately. Randall was a weasel-y little asshole, but Dale made a good point. I think we shouldn't lose our humanity completely. We need to handle outsiders carefully, feel them out."

"And while we're feeling them out, they're raping our women and gut stabbing our men," Rick pointed out.

Daryl didn't say anything, eyeing Rick quietly.

"I mean look at that jackass in the infirmary," Rick went on. "Do you know what he's doing right now? How do we know he's not in there slitting Milton's throat and robbing us of all our medicine?"

Seeing Daryl fall into his silent defence, Rick sighed heavily.

"I'm not saying burn them all, Daryl," he said. "I'm just saying we can't be so neighbourly. We have to make it known that we'd sooner shoot a stranger in the face then shake his hand. If people are smart enough, they'll keep clear of us."

"For how long?" Daryl demanded. "This won't ever end, Rick. If we let it become bloody and hateful, then it'll only get worse."

"You think the groups out there feel the same way?" Rick demanded. "Daryl, you of all people know what bastards the human race is made up of. A single man is only looking out for number one and they won't give a good goddamned about our mercy policy if we have something they want."

They both stopped their arguing as Beth approached on the wall, singing softly. Standing about as she passed by, one of her ancestral Irish songs on her lips, the two men reconciled their differences of opinions without words, Rick going back to work once she had passed and Daryl easing back down to take another rest.

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He was sitting on the steps to the church later. Taking a break with Daryl flopped back onto the steps worn out completely, when Merle slumped into a spot between them.

Rick, as usual with Merle, put up his defences. The man seemed to make it his duty to be as unpleasant as he could get away with and since he and Rick had bad blood, the younger man didn't seem to ever let his guard down around Daryl's brother.

"You know," he began evenly, "I'd suggest finding a goat to take care of this lawn for us, if I wasn't worried about stepping in goat shit every three steps."

"Well, we can't spare the gas for a mower," Daryl replied. "Goat might be the easiest option."

"Besides," Rick added, "they fertilize as they go. Back home people paid a lot of money for that kind of lawn treatment."

Daryl scoffed.

"Hell," Merle began, "maybe if things work out with this new group we can barter with them for a cow. At least they give milk that's not already sour right from the teet."

"Cows?" Rick asked.

"Sure, they had a whole herd of dairy cattle," Merle replied. "Probably some kind of farm remnants there."

Rick scowled. "How'd they make it out with cattle?"

"Amount of dead shitheads they had hanging in the woods around their pasture, I'd say they were cloaking their cattle's scent from the biters, had a hell of a good fence up too, minefield in the woods, I'd say they covered their ass well."

"Even some chickens would be nice," Daryl said, sitting up carefully.

"That's if they're willing to be neighbourly," Rick pointed out. "Besides, what would we offer? Nuns? Communion wafers?"

"Gear?" Daryl suggested. "We picked up at least fifty or more of those Kevlar vests at the base, a shit-ton of combat knives, some other goodies we could spare."

"Maybe your Cajun dog of war will have a better idea of what they'd need once he meets with them," Merle grunted.

Long after Sister Mary Claire appeared and shuttled Daryl back to a cot to lie down, Rick had worked on the convent. He threw himself into fixing it up as best he could, taking his mind off everything but the work.

Finally, after weeding the last of the flower beds, he mustered the courage to do what he knew needed done.

Carl had enough time to cool off and there was a lot needed saying.

Wiping the dirt off his hands with a rag, Rick moved to stand just below his son on the wall.

"Carl," he called up, hooking his thumbs into the belt loops of his jeans and shifting his feet uncomfortably on the ground. "Look, I know," he began nervously, "you're just a teen right now, should be out toilet papering trees and drinking milk until you puke in back alleys with your friends. All that stupid kid stuff. It's unfair that the world went to shit. It's unfair to a lot of us. But you have to learn to control yourself."

"Why? You don't."

Rick took this jab to the chin with a small nod. "Yeah, well, I'm going to. We both can learn a little control, dial it back a little."

"Bullshit."

"Carl, when you start to grow a beard you can curse all you want, but while you're still a teen and my son you're going to keep your mouth clean and you're going to get off the damned wall when I ask you to. And from now on, until you learn to control yourself around our own, you won't touch a gun."

Finding sullen silence the only thing facing him from his son, Rick cleared his throat. "Carl, the only other option here is for you to be seen as an adult. But you might want to rethink that choice, because there are a couple of people around here lining up to whoop your ass. Adults face the consequences of their actions and you made some people mad today, Merle Dixon being one of them and the most likely candidate to beat you into the dirt."

Again Carl continued to ignore him, glaring anywhere but at him.

"I'm not saying I wasn't acting like an ass today, because I was, but I'm going to rectify this. I'm going to ease up on the reins, let others do the thinking for a while. We're both in no condition to be put in any position of power, I think we both need to just fade into the background for a while."

Climbing up onto the wall beside Carl, Rick went on, "look at them, Carl." He motioned to the inhabitants of the convent who were spread out across the lawns before them, a few in the garden weeding, some on the wall and at the gate. "We lost mom, we lost our home, everything we owned, civilization and all law and order, but what we do have is them and this convent, and I can't promise we won't lose them or this place, but for now we need to just appreciate what we have. Stop trying to prove yourself, stop thinking about past mistakes, the people we lost, the places we've been, we need to focus on the here and now. If you keep fighting our own, if you keep making enemies out of them, then the real enemies, the real threat, is going to blindside you. Maybe," he added as a finale to his long winded speech, "maybe we should take a little lesson from the nuns, show mercy, and turn the other cheek."

Carl was looking at him with an unreadable gaze and for the first time Rick was actually scared, because he realized then and there that he really didn't know what his son was capable of or what was going on in his head.

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**No replies to very kind reviews. I'm much too exhausted. It's been a wacky day. You're all very sweet people, you know you're probably some of the classiest, kindest people on earth and you know you'll be getting back as much love as you give.**


	21. Congo Savanne II

**Because I felt bad about abandoning you lot, and because I'm only around for this week for a while, here's a quick update and a new chapter.**

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**Chapter Twenty-One: Congo Savanne II  
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****The Lieutenant****

"Is it true," Glenn asked as they drove down the highway, Sasha driving them in the right direction to meet up with Delgado's group. "What they say about how a woman is supposed to get Mardis Gras beads?"

The Lieutenant chuckled blithely from the backseat of a minivan they had exchanged for one of their beat up trucks somewhere on the highway. "Well, I can tell you what I do know about—"

Grace clearing her throat from the seat behind them primly killed his story dead in his throat.

"I wouldn't know about Mardis Gras shenanigans, never been," he said. "What is it, like a kind of plastic dishware party or something?"

Licking his bottom lip, Glenn leaned in closer. "Like, right there on the street? In front of everyone?"

"Sins of the flesh, Glenn," Grace purred. "I heard New Orleans during Mardis Gras is as bad as Sodom and Gomorrah."

"You're striking up a conversation about women's breasts in a minivan full of women, Glenn," Sasha said from the front where she sat with Carol, smiling congenially in the rear view mirror at him. "You may want to rethink that topic of discussion."

"It was just a question," the young man clarified.

"It's a perfectly good question, here's one for you," the Lieutenant returned. "Where the hell do you get a Blackhawks cap down south when no Southern man I know has ever even touched an ice skate?"

Touching his cap, Glenn shrugged. "Found it in a car on the highway last week."

"Let me see it," the soldier said, tugging it on as soon as it was handed to him.

"No," Sasha said, eyeing them in the mirror, "you look like you're hiding from the cops or something."

"Yeah, not for me I think," he said, removing the cap and putting it back on Glenn's head, tugging it down low playfully.

"This soldier," Carol broke in, turning in her seat to look at him, "you trust him? I mean you must to a degree if you're taking us with you to meet him, but do you really trust him?"

The Lieutenant nodded without hesitation. "There were Marines I was posted with that I wouldn't trust with my luggage at an airport, but I would trust Delgado with the life of my ailing _Mamere_."

"Did you serve with him in the Middle East?" Sasha asked.

"No, we worked at the base together before I was shipped over and some after, but he was laid up in the infirmary for a while before the trouble started. He's a good man, quiet, sharp, keeps to himself. I was his only support during the DADT mess when they were thinking of retracting it."

"DADT?" Glenn broke in.

"Don't ask, don't tell."

"Oh, like a secret mission or something?"

"Gays in the military, _loutre_," the Lieutenant clarified.

Glenn nodded. "Yep, no, of course. I…yeah."

"It's partly why he keeps to himself a lot, still sort of ashamed of what he is."

"You must be a good friend," Sasha said.

"Not so good, I left him to fend for himself at the base when he was laid up."

"It doesn't bother you? That he's…a homosexual?" Grace inquired.

"No," he stated flatly. "Who he chooses to love is none of my business, he's a good man, hell of a good Marine and I can't abide anyone who faults him for his lifestyle." As he said this, he angled his head to eye the former nun in the backseat.

She frowned delicately at him. "Honey, I'm insulted you'd think I was raised to hate. Besides, it's not about _who_ you love, it's _that_ you love."

"I never met a gay man before," Carol mused. "Not that I know of anyways. Though with all the testosterone thrown around by Ed's friends, I wouldn't be surprised if one of them had been deeply, what's the term? In the closet?"

"I had an uncle we thought was gay," Glenn admitted. "But it turned out that he just really liked show tunes."

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They pulled up to the beginning of the tree-lined drive and Sasha put the brakes on gently, long enough for Glenn to hop out and tie the blue flag to the antenna.

As they rolled slowly down the lane, they found one person waiting for them, standing under a large oak that was dripping with Spanish moss.

"If anything goes wrong," the Lieutenant said, climbing over Glenn to get out, "put this van in reverse and get the hell out of here."

Keeping his wounded wing tucked in close to him, he headed towards the figure.

"Delgado, still kicking I see," he greeted with a grin.

The soldier eyed him warily for a moment, before grinning broadly and clapping him on the shoulder. "Sarge, wasn't expecting to find any other Marines out there, let alone one of the ones I liked." Seemingly to realize himself, he forced his grin down and saluted rigidly. "Sir."

"Don't pull that crap with me, Delgado. I've had a long, hot trip in a minivan, about as rock bottom as one can get while still on the mend."

"You broken, Sarge?"

"Most definitively, battered and bruised too."

"Well, we have a doctor—"

"Naw, it's fine, I was looked over by my medic. He used to treat horses, so I figured he'd be the best one to patch me up."

Looking over past the Cajun's shoulder, Delgado studied the minivan. "How many did you bring?"

"Four others, you want to call off your man in the tree?"

"Tree?"

The Lieutenant motioned to the tree they stood under. "I know you have a gun stashed up there. How about telling him to lay off with it?"

"Kowalski? Naw, he's always got something in his sights, won't shoot until he sees a threat."

"Military?"

"Marine. Met him at the base, they flew him in direct from overseas just before it all went to shit. Deaf as a post, supposedly."

"IED?"

"Probably."

"Jesus. Alright, well you wanted to meet. Here I am."

"Why don't you bring your people inside, we can get them fed and talk turkey at a table like normal human beings."

"Didn't you hear? Civilization's dead." The Lieutenant said as he motioned his people out of the van. Delgado did likewise, motioning for his people to come out of hiding as well.

"Is that what's been going on? I thought this was one of those fucking war game retreats."

Chuckling, the Lieutenant motioned to his people as they joined them. "Delgado, this is Carol and you've met Sasha and Glenn and that's Grace bringing up the rear."

"You're civilians?" Delgado asked in shock.

"What were you expecting?" The Lieutenant asked.

"More Marines, maybe. Sarge?"

"No, Marines, Corporal, just civilians."

"Well, they're no less welcome, I'm just shocked, I guess. I thought maybe you still had a platoon with you."

"No, they all went home, if they were lucky enough, I suppose."

Delgado nodded as his people joined him, standing a little behind. "Well, there's just me and Kowalski, so don't get your hopes up about a military force reconciliation."

"That we know of," the Lieutenant said.

"This is Doc Russell, his wife Kate, Eve, Dolly and Jack, Mr. and Mrs. Hollander on the porch there, they own the place, so I guess in matters that don't involve fighting or weapons, you talk to them. Come on, Sarge, we'll get you something to eat."

"Lieutenant, now, actually, Corporal," he corrected as they made their way towards the house. "If you're going to stick to treating me like a CO, then you'd better address me properly."

"What idiot promoted you?"

"Well, he didn't have a choice. There was an infected chewing on his face at the time."

"Ah, that explains it."

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During the meal of homemade bread and butter made with the milk from the dairy cattle, the Lieutenant noticed his people eyeing the other group warily and vice versa. He didn't assume they'd make nice right away, he liked that they remained leery of the others, but Delgado was doing the right thing extending the olive branch. If there was a group in or near his territory he'd want to feel them out first as well, see if friendly terms could be made. Allies were always a good thing to have when it came to a lawless country.

Making idle chitchat with Delgado as they ate, he took a head count of Delgado's group for future reference. As they darted in and out of the house, he counted sixteen, including the children who weren't allowed to be anywhere near the newcomers, but as he ate, he had spied them peeking in through a window at them.

Sasha sat beside her brother, talking to him as he told her all about his adventure and the new group. It was reassuring to hear from him that Delgado's people were nice, suspicious of newcomers, but that was to be expected.

Andrea was good, though re-breaking her leg was going to put her in bed for another month until it healed and then, the doctor had said she'd probably have a limp or nerve damage.

He only hoped it was teach her to stay put when told.

Then again, he mused, he wasn't going to be the pot that called the kettle black.

As the plates were cleared away and Glenn packed about four or five good slabs of warm, fresh bread and butter away in his gut, the Lieutenant turned serious eyes on Delgado and cleared his throat.

"Well, let's talk shop. You want to make an alliance, is that right?"

"I think, given the way things are, it'd be nice to have another group who we could call upon in times of trouble and of this could go both ways. Now, we don't want what you got, that's yours and this is ours, we just want to know you won't be looking with greedy eyes at us and what we have."

"I agree, it'd be nice to have the back up, but I can't make that decision without taking this offer back to my people."

"I understand, Sarge, you know I do. But the olive branch is extended."

"I appreciate it, I really do. It's easier too, having it extended by someone I know and trust."

"Of course, you know where we are."

The Lieutenant angled his chin. "Yeah."

"You or any of your people come up that drive, they'd better flying a blue flag or they're fair game."

"Good to know."

"But that's not to say none of your party could come flying that flag and still bend us over a barrel."

"My people are good people, they wouldn't."

"That's words, only words, Sarge."

"I know, words aren't worth shit, but my word is and you know that. If I say no one from my group will bother you, then I mean it. I'll shoot any dog myself who breaks this word. That's how much my word is worth and how much trust I put into them."

Rubbing the stubble on his jaw, Delgado sighed. "Of course, my people were worried that you know where we are, but we don't have clue where you are."

The Lieutenant froze for a moment, before easing back in his seat. "Yeah, that's a hell of thing."

"You're not going to tell me, are you?"

"No, but if your people are worried about that, what I can do is when I go back to my group with his olive branch, I can take a vote, see if they'd feel comfortable letting you all know. That is, if your people can be trusted."

"My people are good, Bloom is kind of nutty in the head, but I think that was long before this all went down. I think that'd be fair."

"Well, let's say for the time being, that we have a shaky alliance until we can set things in stone."

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They played Elvis on an old hi-fi later after the talks and as some of Delgado's group enjoyed themselves and the music, Delgado turned to the Lieutenant and explained.

"I know it wastes generator power, but the generators won't last forever anyways and they need to enjoy themselves now and then. You know troops under stress need their free time," he said.

"Yeah."

"What do your people do?"

The Cajun frowned. "Not much. We've been taking some shit lately, had no time."

Delgado nodded. "Yeah."

"Sometimes we gather around a campfire and joke and talk, but not lately."

"Your boys seem to enjoy it," Delgado motioned with a nod of his head towards Glenn and Tyreese who were both lively dancing with two of Delgado's group.

"Let them, no harm."

"You used to tear up the dance floor, Sarge."

"Yeah," he sighed. "When I'm better mended, maybe I will again someday."

"So what happened?"

"Doesn't matter now."

"Wounds are still fresh, huh?"

The Lieutenant was quiet, pondering something he had overlooked. Troops did need a break now and then or they'd start going peculiar, he didn't know why he didn't think about that. Maybe it was because with everything going on, he didn't have time to really think like a soldier.

"You know," Delgado said confidently after a bit. "These infected won't last forever. There will always be stragglers, late comers to being bit, but I've been watching them and most of them are getting too rotten to do much other than stagger around."

Eyeing him, the Cajun soaked this information in. Delgado's face was stone serious.

"I think they still rot, slower than most corpses, but I think they die off after a while. That last surge of infected we had was coming from the coast, but they were emaciated looking, weak, couldn't even get up the energy to hold you down."

"That's an oddly comforting thought." Thinking of Milton Mamet's uggie and how they took her and how he was holding on to her for research, the Lieutenant pushed away from the wall where they had been leaning. "Makes sense when you think of it."

"Well, when it first happened we were all too busy running away from them, I don't think many people took the time to study them over a long time period."

Spying Grace heading towards them, Lafayette cleared his throat and straightened up, he didn't want her knowing how much the adventure was wearing him out.

"Lafayette honey," she greeted him softly.

He stooped as best he could to hear her over the music, it wasn't overly loud, but he wanted to give her his full attention.

"We should probably get back before the others begin thinking we ran into trouble," she said, taking hold of his free hand and gripping it lightly. "You look like you could use the rest as well."

Glancing to Delgado who was twitching his nose to cover a smirk, the Lieutenant nodded to her.

"Alright, magpie, you get the others together, yeah?"

She smiled at Delgado. "It was nice to meet you, Mr. Delgado, er, Corporal."

Delgado smiled softly. "Ángel's fine, ma'am."

Offering her hand, Grace bowed her head almost shyly. "I hope we meet again soon."

As she moved off to gather the others, Delgado cast him a sly look.

"_Lafayette honey_?" He asked.

"Yes, darling?" Lafayette shot back.

The Marine chuckled. "You have someone soft and curvy keeping you warm at night, Sarge?"

"Soft? Hell no, that woman is all knees and elbows at night."

Folding his arms, Delgado leaned back on one leg, eyeing Grace as she gathered the others like a mother hen with wings spread. "I like her, middle of the end of the world and she's still a real Southern lady, polite and sweet."

"Sweet?" The Lieutenant laughed. "You should see her when she's good and riled."

"Wasn't that always your type, Sarge?"

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**The Voodoo Dialect**

**Congo - A handsome but apathetic loa. Content with any clothing and eats mixed foods with much pimiento, and is fond of mixed drinks.**


	22. Azacca

**You're all very lovely people. I give you, a Merle chapter...with some Caryl at the end. Oops, that slipped out. Ah well. ^_^**

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**Chapter Twenty-Two: Azacca**

****Merle****

Around them the sounds of the late Georgian evening hummed, the crickets were beginning to complain, the leaves in the trees whispered and the sounds of the convent were beginning to slow, readying to still for the night.

Squinting down at his opponent, Merle was readying himself for a good fight. "Are you telling tales out of your ass?"

"No," his little visitor objected.

"You can't bullshit a bullshitter, you know this, right?"

"I'm not!"

Giving Annie, the pint sized piece of trouble, a good long stink eyed look, Merle eased back against the tree. "So, you're telling me that if I even gave a woman a peck, a dry, closed mouth, barely brushing her lips, kiss, she'd be good and fertilized?"

"What's fertilized?" Annie demanded.

"You know something," he went on. "I think you're just trying to sell me snake shoes."

"I'm not! It's true! That's where babies come from." She argued.

Calmly picking dirt from under his fingernail with the tip of his blade, Merle scowled. "I think you're only seeing the tip of the iceberg, little squirt."

"What's that?"

"Never mind, go bother someone else, you've been hanging off my ass all day," he snarled.

Annie slumped down into the dirt beside him, leaning against his side as though he weren't a mean old alley cat of a man, strands of her dark hair which had fallen out of her braids tickling his bare arm as the calm breeze blew through them.

"What happened to your hand?" She asked.

"I got a tattoo I didn't like on it, so I chopped the whole hand off," he replied. "Thought it'd grow back."

She blinked at him. "I skinned my knee once," she said, pulling up her dress to show him her knee. "It got better though."

"Jesus," he exclaimed, mildly sarcastic, "did they take you to the hospital and everything?"

"You're teasing me," she stated with a broad smile.

"So this is what you do all day? Just talk bullshit with people?"

"I don't talk bull-poop," she growled. "I really did skin my knee, but it just looks normal because it got better."

Opening his mouth, Merle was mere seconds away from continuing his fight with the little chickenhawk, but the gate opening and a minivan driving in with the others broke the moment and he climbed to his feet, ignoring the ache of his hip and spine, putting off his worries about getting old in favour of eyeing the seven people who piled out of the vehicle.

He spied tiny lioness Carol give his baby bro a huge grin and furrowed his brow to fight off the pleasant look that was threatening his features. It would embarrass the hell out of him to have anyone see him content with his brother's happiness.

Not that Daryl was all smiles for her. He wasn't really a big grinner. It took a rare thing to make his baby brother smile, but a strange curve shifted and altered the shape of his scruff as Carol pushed up and gave him a kiss and even Merle knew his brother was smiling gently for her.

Everyone who didn't have anything better to do crowded the minivan, Annie forgetting about her bullshit with him, racing for first Grace, and then wrapping herself around the Cajun's leg tightly.

"How'd it go?" Rick asked, as Herschel and Mrs. Douglas pushed past him, helping Andrea to get to the infirmary to rest.

Blondie looked pale and drawn, but still had that twinkle of a scrappy fighter in her eye as she met his on her way by.

"Still alive?" He grunted to her.

"Barely," she replied.

Smiling, Merle pulled up beside Officer Friendly, folding his arms and eyeing the others.

"Better than I expected," the Lieutenant said. "No uggie problems and they only want amicable relations."

Rick narrowed his eyes a little, but said nothing.

"How can you be sure about that?" Karen broke in.

"Because I trust Delgado and he's in charge of them, if he says he wants only peace, then that's all he wants."

"We'll discuss this tomorrow," Grace stated firmly, gripping the elbow of the Cajun's good wing and gently pushing him towards the dorms. "But some of us could use our rest. Shouldn't be out of bed anyhow," she added under her breath on their way by, Annie sticking as close to the Cajun's ass as she could without riding it.

Merle approached Carol and his brother who were milling about with Glenn and Tyreese. His brother's damned horse at his feet as usual, lying on them almost as though trying to keep Daryl from moving about too much.

"Well?" He demanded.

Tyreese was the one to speak. "They're alright," he said. "At least I didn't get a bad vibe from them."

"Well, Woodbury was all sunshine and rainbows for the strangers too," Merle pointed out.

"I don't know," Glenn said. "They seemed more scared of us than we were of them."

"That's because they don't know how many of us there are, we have the upper hand," Carol said softly.

Merle turned to her, impressed by her thinking.

"For all they know," she went on, "we could be hundreds of men strong with the might of firepower and an unknown location to them."

"They didn't follow you? I mean to find out our location?" Daryl asked.

"No, on the way back Glenn took some lonely roads, twists and turns to lose anyone who might have been," Sasha said, moving to stand beside her brother. "Besides," she added, "I liked them."

"Me too," Carol said. "I honestly think they want the allies."

"You'd be stupid not to in this day and age," Tyreese said.

As the group split up, Merle followed his baby bro, heading in the direction of his love shack Daryl shared with his silver haired lady friend.

"Hey, Darlina," he called out, stopping his brother at the door to his shack.

"What's up?"

Merle sized his brother up. He was pale and a looked tired, which both pissed Merle off over how dumb his brother was for pushing himself and irritated him that he gave a rat's ass about it. It wasn't any of his business if his dumb assed brother didn't stay in bed until he was fully recovered.

Still, he growled to Carol, "you make sure he gets some sleep, he looks like something a sailor pulled out from under his nutsack."

"We're heading for a rest right now," she said, patting Daryl's chest with her hand.

Merle squinted at them. "Make sure you actually do that."

"What do you want, Merle?" Daryl snapped.

"Jesus, can't even tell you to get some rest?" Merle barked back. "I'm trying to be fucking concerned here."

"Ain't never cared before," Daryl muttered, stepping into his shack, his moose of a dog at his heels eagerly.

Carol lingered, big blue eyes on Merle. Before they used to narrow at him, suspicious of all he was, everything he had been when they first met, but now they eyed him calmly, almost sympathetically. She reached out and touched a warm, rough hand to his forearm, right above his blade strap.

"You should get some rest too, Merle," she said. "Lord knows we could all use it," she added, ducking into the shack behind his little brother.

Merle stood at the door to his brother's 'home' for a while, before bowing his head and kicking at the grass with his boot.

Shit, he was beginning to give a rat's ass about his brother's woman too. That was a dangerous, but somehow not unwelcome thing. Besides, she was as good as a Dixon. Anyone who'd dare cut her would wind up in the same mangled shape as the dog who'd dare cut Daryl.

"Well, fuck," he murmured to himself, "looks like ol' Merle's got a family."

As he turned from the shack, he spied a few of the group mingling around the campfire they set up beside the infirmary, just beyond the convent's peach tree and headed towards it, keeping out of the inner circle of light, but leaning against the tree to observe as Beth sang to them sweetly, Judith fast asleep in her arms, being gathered up by her father who was heading towards the dorms to put his baby girl to bed.

On the wall, Sister Mary Elizabeth lingered long enough to hear the song, before walking off on her patrol, shotgun braced over her forearm.

"She's really got a lovely voice," someone said from the other side of the tree trunk.

Merle poked his head around and found Sister Mary Agnes standing there, one of the few remaining cats of Sister Gertrude's in her arms.

"I wouldn't know," he replied.

"I miss music," the nun went on. "My husband used to take me to those Sunday night dances they had at the local hall, old time music mostly, but he could dance like Fred Astaire." She shrugged. "May have seemed that way because I was in love."

"Ain't much dancing anymore," he grunted. "Just a lot of death and destruction."

The nun moved closer to him, sliding around the trunk to stand beside him, setting the cat down. "I don't know. Yesterday I found that cat had a nest of kittens hidden away under a stone bench in the rose garden, safe from the elements by a thick tangle of rose bushes on either side. That didn't seem like death or destruction to me," she argued.

"Give it time," he returned.

"What about Rick and his little girl? Among the chaos of these end of days was born a sweet cherub with dark curls and rose petal pink lips."

"Last I saw of her," Merle went on pessimistically. "She had a full load in her britches that smelled like death and destruction."

"You're a negative thinker, Mr. Dixon."

"I'm a realist, sister. We are living in the worst of times, this is it. Nothing pretty left. Only tears and blood."

"Well, we differ in opinion, I'm afraid."

Watching as she folded her arms around herself, he frowned, looking at the sky overhead. "Cool tonight," he remarked.

"Never a good thing when it's cold at night in Georgia," she replied, smiling, she motioned suddenly to the group, dragging Merle's attention down and over at them. "Seems there's two others on the sidelines."

He eyed the new woman and her son as they stood in the shadows of the infirmary, watching the merriment.

"Poor woman doesn't speak a lick of English," Sister Mary Agnes said.

"If she was smart enough to know English, she'd have been smart enough to know she was travelling with a complete piece of shit."

"Mr. Dixon!" The nun exclaimed. "That poor man—"

"Poor man my ass," he growled. "He's a big mouthed, blockheaded, fish trying to vacation in the desert. He's going to get himself killed one of these days beaking off to the wrong person."

"We all handle stress differently," the woman reasoned.

Sighing, he eyed her, before choking back his anger. "You should get your ass closer to the damned fire before you get sick and die on us."

"I didn't think you'd care, Mr. Dixon."

"I'd damn well care if I woke in the night with you chewing on my ass," he stated.

"Well," she retorted with a small, proud smile, "certainly not until you have a bath."

"If you weren't a damned nun," he began, temper flaring a bit at her smart assed bickering.

"You'd be chasing me around like a fox after a hen?"

Even in the near dark he could see the flash of impish intent that flickered in her eyes and it nearly knocked him onto his ass. He smiled broadly at her. "Well, Sister Mary Agnes," he drawled slowly, pausing between words, "I do believe you're flirting with me."

"I'm too old for that nonsense, Mr. Dixon," she said. "But it's kind of you to get so excited at the prospect."

Resting his hand against the tree, he leaned over her. "You know, about that bath you think I need—"

She smiled sweetly at him. "Goodnight, Mr. Dixon."

Watching as she hurried across the lawn, Merle beamed even wider as she hesitated a few feet from him, peeking back at him over her shoulder.

"Well," he said, turning his eyes to the sky above, "fortune is beginning to smile on ol' Merle."

"Don't be so sure," she called back to him.

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****Carol****

After she helped him remove his boots (against a barrage of grumbling protests from him), she eased Daryl back onto their bed and helped him get comfortable, fluffing his pillow and adjusting the thing blanket she made him use to ward off chill while he was recuperating.

She commanded Clyde to lie on the old ratty rug at the end of the bed and toed off her own boots, before going back to adjusting Daryl's comfort level.

"Dammit, woman," he grumbled, grasping her upper arms and pulling her down onto the bed with him. "Stop your bustling and bumping."

She smiled at him, arranging herself so that she wasn't leaning against his wound. "You wore yourself out today."

"I'm fine," he argued, catching her hand as she moved to adjust the thin blanket over his hips, pulling it up to lay it on his chest. "Jesus, stop picking and prodding me."

"I missed you," she explained, stopping all complaints from the grumpy Dixon.

He only grunted and wrapped his hand around hers.

Laying her head against his chest, Carol smiled softly, content like a cat ready to purr. She never felt safer than she felt when she was with him. Daryl made her feel like nothing bad would ever come near them.

She liked these quiet moments they had just before sleep, when they were warm and comfortable and safe in the belief that there was always someone walking the wall outside, that there was always someone up and about at the convent.

Nudging her head up and under his chin, Carol smiled and snuggled in deeper against him.

As he released her hand to tuck it behind his head to prop it up, she eased her fingertips under his shirt collar and gently stroked at the sparse hair that covered his chest, fingering a scar as she came to it.

Pushing up to arch over him, she hovered over his body, heading upwards on his body to catch his mouth in a sweet, short kiss.

"You know Judith is already trying to pull herself up?" She asked him. "Yesterday she rolled over onto her belly and was grasping at the grass for support."

"That's all we need," he griped, reaching up and tugging at a tendril of her hair that was curling out around her face, "another damned kid running around."

"You say lovingly, I'm sure," she teased.

Daryl blinked at her and she eyed him back quietly, before he snorted.

"That's what I thought," she said softly. "Big teddy bear trying to growl." Curling up against him, she lay her head back down against his chest, her hand now moving to lightly check on the bandages over his wound, fingering the edges of them gingerly, reminding herself of how much she nearly lost.

His hand continued to play with her hair, curling it around his fingers, catching it on his rough callouses, stroking and petting it idly as he lay with her.

At her age, she was glad he didn't want to do much more than hold her (and if she was honest, she'd admit that he was getting much better at that). Ed sort of ruined sex for her anyways, with his rutting and poking. She was much more content to just have Daryl, to hold him, to hear his gruff voice first thing in the morning, to have his quiet strength with her and in her life.

Really, she couldn't ask for anything more.

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**The Voodoo Dialect**

**Azacca or Zaka -** This is the loa of agriculture, but is generally seen as the brother of Ghede. For this reason Ghede will often come to the ceremonies for Zaka and come when Zaka has mounted someone. Zaka is a gentle simple peasant, but greatly respected by the peasants since he is a very hard worker. He is addressed as "cousin". He is found wherever there is country. He is usually barefoot, carries a macoute sack, wears a straw hat, and has a pipe in his mouth. By nature he is suspicious, out for profit, fond of quibbling, and has a fear and hatred of town folk. He is known for his gossip he spreads and for his "girl chasing."

Like Ghede, Zaka loves his food. But, unlike Ghede, he is rude and voracious in his eating habits, often running away to hide with him food and eat it quickly. His favorite dishes to eat are the ones peasants feed on-boiled maize, bread soaked in oil and slices of small intestine with fatty membrane fried, unrefined sugar. His favorite drink is white rum and his tree is the avocado. Zaka controls the fields, and like the farmers themselves, he is very watchful of detail. He notes who is treating whom in what manner, who is flirting with whom, who says what to whom etc. He does not forgive easily.


	23. Erzulie

**Well, here it is kids, the last chapter for a while. But only a little while. I'm going to be AWOL for a bit again, but don't worry, I'll be back with more. This is too much fun to write and I'd never abandon it.**

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**Chapter Twenty-Three:** **Erzulie **

****Old Missy****

The day had worn him out.

She could tell that immediately after they stepped into the privacy of her dorm room and he went from holding himself up, ramrod straight and walking with the smooth grace of a tiger, to wrapping his good arm around his ribs tightly, stooping in on himself and dragging his feet like an old man of ninety as soon as the door closed.

Underneath his camo and light gear, she knew he was wrapped tightly around the ribs, duct taped securely at the shoulder in order for him to go without his sling, he was cobbled back together under his clothes like a patchwork scarecrow, but one wouldn't know to look at him beyond the solitude of their room.

It almost hurt her to see the change and she moved to help him ease down onto the bed, taking hold of his elbow gently and finding him heavy with exhaustion against her.

"You pushed it today," she said softly, kneeling to help him with his boots.

"Had to be done," he replied casually, offering her a broad grin that looked just a little plastic around the edges.

Near the door, Annie stood holding Boo in her arms, struggling a little under her weight, her eyes wide. Even the girl could see the change in the soldier once the door had been closed, she looked concerned, worried, almost afraid.

Lafayette smiled at her and held out his good arm. "Are you going to stand there all night, boo girl?"

Quietly Annie moved towards him, crawling up onto the cot at his side, Boo squirming in her arms as she did so.

Grace set the Lieutenant's boots neatly by the door and went to her chiffarobe for Annie's nightgown and hers, while the child wrapped her arms around the soldier's waist, bumping his ribs, causing him to wince.

"Careful, sweetie, remember?" Grace warned.

"Sorry," Annie said, looking up at the man she held, he beamed at her.

"Were you a good girl while we were gone?"

She nodded. "Mr. Dixon said eight bad words and then spit on the ground," she tattled earnestly. "He said I was telling him bull-poop, only he said the other one."

"Cow-poop?" The Lieutenant teased.

"I'm not supposed to say," Annie returned, not understanding his joke.

"Good girls don't, honey," Grace stated, motioning for Annie to join her by the chiffarobe to dress her for bed.

"I can do it," Annie protested, grabbing for the gown.

Grace handed it over and moved to give her privacy from the soldier, smiling as he made a big show about covering his eyes with his hand.

"Can I sleep with you tonight?" Annie asked, struggling into her nightgown, her head getting stuck somewhere inside it.

"Not tonight, sweetheart." Grace urged.

It hurt to deny her, but the cot was small and Annie kicked in her sleep, she didn't want to risk the girl bumping the soldier in the wrong way and doing more damage than good for him.

Peeking out from around her, Annie chirped, "I'm done," and the Lieutenant dropped his hand with a smile.

"Brush your hair and then go into the bathroom and brush your teeth, I want to see them shining when I come to read you to sleep, little lady." Grace ordered. "Good Lord knows there's probably no dentists left and I don't know how long toothpaste lasts. We don't need you losing your baby teeth due to rot."

Annie frowned, but obeyed her, climbing up onto the cot with her Cajun and dog and giving the former a sweet kiss on the cheek. As she hopped off the cot, her dog did the same, following her out the door and down the hall.

Grace poked her head out the door long enough to see Annie disappear into the bathroom, before returning her attention to the Lieutenant, finding him looking older than she had ever remembered seeing him. It hurt her a little to see him so battered and broken, so she moved to stand before him, still not good at intimacy, clasping her hands before her.

"You should lie back," she said. "Get some sleep."

"I haven't brushed my teeth or hair yet," he returned with a sly grin.

Even in the dim light of the candle someone had lit for them, sitting in the simple sconce on the wall, she could almost count the silver strands that were haunting his dark hair and pulled her mouth into a grim line.

"How bad is it?" She asked, worried he was worse than he was letting on.

"Just tired, magpie," he confessed.

"Truth?"

"God's honest," he returned.

Setting her hands in his hair, she stroked them down and under his jaw on either side, tilting his head up gently, the bandage from the wound to his neck brushing against her pinkie, reminding her of how fragile he could be, how human he was.

He was definitely hers, she decided. Only she could care for him and protect him best (most of the time, she'd later admit, from himself).

The Lieutenant beamed up at her, a genuine smile that brought to mind the first time she had laid eyes on him. Crouching on the wall to her convent, dirty, scruffy and smiling widely in shock and joy at finding them in the garden below.

Dropping a kiss, first to his forehead, then to his mouth, she pulled back and found him looking at her with such open, shining eyes. She knew then that whenever she would begin to doubt her decision to abandon the habit, she would remember the look he gave her and recall that it was worth it all, just to have him looking the way he did at her.

"Sleep, Fate," she whispered. "The rest will do you good."

"You're good to me, magpie," he confessed.

"Yes," she admitted, pulling away from him to head for the door, going to check in on Annie and do her own pre-bedtime routine, "almost like I love you."

"Almost," he teased.

Pausing at the door, she turned back to face him. "Honey, if I could find a way to say it to you without getting you all riled," she began with a small grin. "I'd say it plainly."

"Well," he returned, easing back onto the cot carefully, using his good arm to drag himself into position, wincing at the rough movement, "I'm sure you will when you get back to bed."

She couldn't help but laugh. "Do you often dream impossible dreams, Lieutenant?"

"No," he replied easily, covering a yawn, "lately all my dreams have involved a pretty little nun and a ruler."

"Well, I should be enraged you're dreaming of another nun, honey," she said. "Because you know full well my weapon of choice is a wooden spoon."

"Yeah, I remember the little piece of kitchenware that nearly ended my career as a fulltime hand model," he grumbled.

She folded her arms. "Looking back I feel it may have been worth it the way you torment me horribly."

"Torment you? _Cher_, I have been anything, if not a proper gentleman with you."

"Do I have to remind you of the Christmas incident, honey?" She asked.

He paled and immediately averted his eyes nervously. "You swore you'd never speak of that ever. Don't make the _misère_, _beb_."

"Well, things have changed around here," she argued with a wicked grin. "I think it's time we relive old memories."

"I'll be good," he said with a sigh of resignation.

"Just like that, Mr. Klaus?" She asked, a playful twinkle in her eye. "I think I'll bring up Christmas whenever you start being a complete brat, it seems to be a good way to win any kind of battle with you."

"A man could grow old before his time with a tricky woman like you behind the wheel," he said.

"Don't you forget it," she pointed out with a stern look. "I'll get your toothbrush while I'm in the bathroom," she said casually, stepping out of the room, "you don't look like you'd make it even halfway there."

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He was holding himself tall and proud the next day as a majority of their group congregated just outside the church doors, standing on the front steps.

Grace watched him carefully as he spoke in his deep, low tones to them, explaining the meeting he had and his feelings on making an alliance with his friend's group. She didn't think it was a good idea for either him or Daryl to be up and out of bed, but the two men were pushy and stubborn and as much as she tried to get the Lieutenant to rest, he brushed it off with a smile and constantly swore to do it later.

Later, she decided, meant when he went to bed at night, apparently.

"But you don't know that he hasn't changed," Karen argued, her son Noah was walking the wall behind her, but lingering nearby long enough that Grace knew he was listening in to the adults as they discussed the situation.

"We've all changed," the Lieutenant pointed out. "But our basic humanity hasn't. Delgado makes a good point when he says we'll do better with someone to have our backs. It goes both ways in times of hardships, doesn't it?"

"If the Lieutenant says we should, I trust his choice," Carol broke in, in her soft, honest way, holding her thin sweater around herself to ward off the wind that was blowing a little strong. "It couldn't hurt to open some kind of lines of communication with them."

"I think," Tyreese broke in, "all they are now is a group of farmers and ranchers. They seemed happy just surviving there without bothering anyone."

"Tyreese should know," Sasha added, "he stayed with them for a week."

"Besides," Daryl added, "if this asshole in our infirmary, eating our food and generally being a pain in the ass is right and there's a group lingering around these parts, it could be useful to have more than one group of eyes on the lookout for them."

Grace looked to Rick, who was sitting on the steps nearby, but not in the thick of it, holding Judith on his lap and shielding her from the wind with his arms around her protectively. He didn't look like he was going to add anything to the dialogue, just waiting for the results.

"Well, fair is fair," Glenn said. "We take a vote?"

Everyone nodded.

Not at all to Graces' surprise, most of them were in favour of an alliance, though some of them it took a few seconds of thought before raising their hands, she could see there was a desire in a lot of them for peace, but that they had been through a lot and mistrust was common to them.

"What about letting them know where we are?" Milton asked, his left leg in a cast, his left arm in a sling and his middle tightly bound. "I don't know about any of you," he added, "but I wouldn't feel comfortable just letting them know that."

"I agree," Glenn said. "They may just be making this alliance in the hopes of getting that information."

"I don't think they're those kind of people," Tyreese argued. He should know, he spent the most time with them.

"Woodbury didn't come off that those kind of people either," Beth griped. Her eyes opening and flying to Milton and Karen. "No offence," she said quickly.

"No, she's right," Merle pointed out.

"You were the worst one of the bunch, from what I recall," Sasha said.

"Only following orders."

As the group descended into a mild melee over Woodbury and those remnants of the fallen group who remained, Grace eyed Rick who still seemed content to just sit there and watch the going's on, but had no interest in involving himself.

"A vote then?" Glenn suggested once more, breaking up the fighting.

"A vote sounds more reasonable than squabbling," Merle grunted.

Grace's attention turned to the Lieutenant, who was sagging back against the metal railing that guarded the steps of the church, he looked ready to fall down.

She took a few steps around the group towards him, but by the time she got to his side he was forcing his spine straight, holding himself upright again. There was a sheen of sweat that coated his grey features that she didn't like the looks of.

"Are you alright?" She whispered, moving to stand at his side.

He nodded. "Better than I look."

"You look like a plucked chicken," she pointed out as the group voted against letting Delgado's people know about their location, at least for the time being.

"Well I feel like a prime pigeon," he retorted with a wry grin.

Running her hand over his on the railing, up his strong forearm to his elbow, she gripped it gently. "Will you rest for me after this?"

"Is there more incentive then your gratitude if I agree?" He teased.

"If that's what it'll take, darling," she whispered.

Turning his kind eyes on her, her soldier leaned down and rest his forehead against hers, smiling genuinely at what she knew would be her most determined look. Her mother got the same look when she was being stubborn and insistent, her mouth would pull in a straight line, her chin would stick out some, and her brows would lower.

He chuckled softly at her look and kissed her temple. "We'll discuss incentives later, magpie."

Her look must have fallen, because as soon as he said this, his expression changed to one of genuine sincerity and he pulled away from holding the railing to slid his arm around her waist, resting his large hand on her hip and pulling her in close against him.

She stuck out her hand to avoid crushing his ribs, resting it against his chest.

A little shy to be against him with so many people nearby, she ducked her head and eyed the Lieutenant's scuffed, worn army issue boots, standing firmly on the stoop beside her dainty little bare feet.

"I'm fine, _pie bavarde_," he whispered in her ear, nuzzling her cheek with his patrician nose. "I'm much better than you think. I just look like hell."

Drawing her eyes up from the ground, Grace looked over at the group who was slowly dying away and found Carol hovering beside Daryl in much the same, protective, stubborn manner. Daryl – it seemed – was busy watching them back and Grace tilted her head at this. He was deep in study, watching the Lieutenant as he bowed his head to Grace. Before she could clearly make out what the look was about the Cajun was dropping a kiss to her cheek, fingers flexing against her hip and stealing her attention.

"_Je t'aime plus que vous ne le saurons jamais_," he growled in her ear, drawing her in closer for a kiss.

"One of these days I'll catch on to what you say in Cajun, you giant oakwood," she replied, feeling him smiling against her cheek.

"I'll worry about that day when it comes in ten-fifteen years, magnolia blossom," he returned slyly.

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Later, when the winds were picking up almost brutally, tearing through even their natural, forest wind break, she was on the wall, making her rounds with Lafayette's beat up .22 rifle resting in her hands, she was thinking about their decision and the other group.

There was no way they could read minds, peer into the hearts of men to see their intentions, but she wanted to trust them. It was hard because there were people who she knew couldn't be trusted, people who could tell lies as easily as they could blink, but it would crush Lafayette for his friend to go back on his word in such a vile, wretched manner.

Keeping one eye on Annie, playing inside the wall, hopping and dancing around with Boo the dog, one eye on the outside of the wall for danger and the one Buddha would have labelled her inner eye, on Lafayette sitting in the shade with a few of the other men, doing as little as he could while still doing something. They were cleaning guns with the unloaded weapons spread out on an old blanket on the grass around them.

She supposed it was better than him moving around too much, but she still would have preferred he rested in bed.

Carol was on the wall as well, heading her way, hand holding her rifle strap, slung over her shoulder.

"Those men don't slow down," she greeted idly in passing, "they're going to undo all the work Herschel and Mrs. Douglas did."

Grace frowned at the men behind them, but didn't know what to say.

For a moment the two women stood on the wall, eyeing the woods before them. No words were said.

Grace was trying to find a delicate way to ask Carol, to maybe learn something about what her role in the odd relationship she shared with Lafayette was supposed to be. It was hard to admit she was green to something so common, at the age she was.

"Would you ever get married?" Carol asked suddenly.

"I'm just getting over and reconciling my relationship with God," Grace said. "Marriage is possibly the last thing on my mind."

Giving her a mildly incredulous look, Carol tilted her head. "Really?"

"You were expecting a different response?"

"I just thought because of your," she hesitated, "because of the relationship you have with the Lieutenant and who you are—"

"I should hope I'm not silly enough to encourage such thoughts in that Cajun boy's mind," Grace retorted.

"Well, obviously not right away, but would you marry at all?" Carol clarified.

"Marry Lafayette or any man in general?"

"Would it matter?"

Grace smiled secretly to herself. "Indeed it would. I don't think any man would do for me, but that Cajun boy."

Smiling, Carol studied the woods. "It would be nice though, to have a wedding around here."

Laughing, Grace nodded. "Well, maybe it'll be yours, because I don't think mine is coming up anytime soon."

"Oh no," Carol protested, "after Ed, marriage is…not something I'd ever do. Not yet."

"Well, marriage is for younger women," Grace said. "I think we're both old enough to know better."

"Maybe we'll get lucky and one of the young girls will get married. Then we'll have it easy, all the fun of the celebration and none of the commitment hassle."

The two women burst out laughing on the wall, before they went back to patrolling.

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**The Voodoo Dialect**

**Erzulie: (Ezili) **She has tremendous power and is feared as much as she is loved. Also, she has several different roles: goddess of the word, love, help, goodwill, health, beauty and fortune, as well as goddess of jealousy, vengeance, and discord. She is usually known as a serpent that coiled upon itself lives on water and bananas. She is depicted as a trembling woman who inhabits the water. She has no specific function, but is approachable in a confidential manner. In every sanctuary there is a room, or corner of a room, dedicated to her. She is closely associated with the Blessed Virgin Mary and her symbol is the heart, usually one broken with an arrow in much the same way as a dominant Catholic portrait of Mary has it. Despite her flirtations and loving ways, Erzulie is a virgin. She is the complete converse of the crude sexuality of Papa Ghede. She may not be a virgin in the physical sense, but in the sense that her love transcends the earth, it is a love of higher forces. She belongs to the family of sea spirits, but has become completely divorced from her origins as to be now almost exclusively a personification of feminine grace and beauty.

* * *

**The Cajun Dialect**

**Je t'aime plus que vous ne le saurons jamais.** - I love you more than you will ever know.


	24. Brise

**That's right, Spy's back babies! I'm tired and hungry and when I was wading waist deep in the Amazon in order to document the new sub species of dung beetle, I have to admit, I thought of you everyday.**

**By the way, I named the dung beetle after you all, Dungus Babicus.**

**...that shouldn't be an insult, because the species actually doesn't care much for dung and isn't a beetle at all, but a rather large and powerful form of Ocelot cousin.**

**Am I kidding? You'll never know...on with the story!**

* * *

**Chapter Twenty-Four: Brise**

****Daryl****

He was skulking around his bike a few days later, cleaning it up due to lack of something better to be doing. Seemed every time he tried to do anything productive, Carol would give him that sweet look of hers that made him feel somehow guilty, like he was disappointing her by working in his condition, even though she never looked cross or disapproving.

Rick was sitting on the lawn a few feet from him, the engine of a lawnmower dismantled and spread out before him on the grass. The man was obviously beginning to reach for things to keep his mind occupied from leading them or ganking walkers.

At his side the Lieutenant sat with Annie, Judith in his good arm, the older girl singing in Cajun to him, pausing now and then to be softly reminded of the word she was searching for by the soldier.

Seemed Merle, Tyreese and Glenn were the only men up and about lately. Milton was floored and laid up in the infirmary, Carl was gunless and sulking, Father O'Rourke would defend the convent, but refused to hunt or do anything which seemed excessively violent and Herschel was just beginning to heal enough to get a wooden leg fashioned for him to move about better, even then Daryl wasn't holding high hopes for the man to be running and jumping about like a kid. That kid from Woodbury was alright, but his mother was a bit overprotective and the boy did seem to get winded easily, so he wasn't much use either.

Still moving slow, careful not to pull his stitches, still being poked and prodded by Herschel and Mrs. Douglas morning, noon and night, Daryl knew his limits and rested when he needed it.

It didn't help that he hated sitting still for too long, but he found if he rested when he needed it, he healed at the same rate as he would if he were lying about in a bed all day. Felt like he healed faster.

"You know," Rick began calmly, wiping grease off a distributor cap, "I never liked football, but I miss the game days, watching the game with the guys, drinking beer and eating salty snacks."

"I never liked baseball," the Lieutenant admitted.

"What are you?" Daryl snapped. "A fucking communist?"

"Think about it," the Cajun went on. "Have you ever been sober and watched a game. I mean, really watched the game. It's something you need beer to enjoy and even then it's like pulling teeth."

"I watched curling once," Rick said as though admitting to a sinful thing, "by accident. Caught it during the Olympics. I couldn't stop watching, it's boring as hell, but it draws you in."

"What the fuck is curling?" Daryl growled.

"Men throwing rocks at each other down some ice," the Lieutenant said. "Two of nature's most deadliest elements combined with bad sweaters and a lot of vaguely Celtic looking men with ruddy faces, now that's a hell of a game."

"What the hell is polo, then?" Daryl demanded.

The men fell silent.

"Is that the one with those flat bats and goofy sweaters?"

"That's croquet."

"No, that's cricket, croquet is the one with the wooden mallets and hoops."

"Wait, is polo the one with horses and those long crab hammers?"

"We're bad at being men."

"Well," Rick said, "we're still alive. So that's a matter of opinion."

Spying the woman who came with Cash and her son heading for the infirmary, Daryl jerked his chin in their direction and Rick and the Lieutenant both craned to see.

"They still keeping to themselves?" He asked.

"Well, she's been helping the women out, but doesn't say anything not even to her boy, really," Rick explained. "The boy's helpful, but he doesn't seem to trust anyone but his mother and Cash."

"Hell of a man to trust," the Lieutenant said. "I would have bet on a sleeker pony, myself."

"He must have done something for them, in order to have gained that trust," Rick returned. "I'm figuring if the group that's after him liked to take advantage of ladies," he said, eyeing Annie and Judith warily, "then maybe he rescued them from those men or something like that."

"Naw," Daryl said. "Doesn't seem the heroic type."

"Maybe he found them wandering after he left, kept them fed and safe, might be enough for anyone scared and desperate enough to offer loyalty," the Cajun suggested.

They watched as the woman and boy entered the infirmary, slipping out of sight.

"What is zydeco?" Rick asked after they returned to their own business.

"If you have to ask then you're not ready to know," the Cajun returned with a crooked grin.

"Hey," Daryl broke in, "is it true what they say about Mardis Gras beads?"

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"Here guys," Glenn said as he returned later that evening from scavenging with Michonne. Tossing a box full of board games and everything needed to keep entertained at an isolated cabin in front of them as they sat on the stoop of the church. "I thought you might like something to do that isn't too much work."

Daryl toed the box towards the Lieutenant, who set Annie down from his knee to dig through it, handing off things to Rick as Annie scurried off to find Grace and Carol. "Where'd you get this?"

"Oh, little bit here and there," Glenn replied with a shy smile. "I smuggled you back some other stuff too," he added with a whisper, checking on the location of the women. "The stuff you asked for Lieutenant and some extra."

"You found all of it?" The Lieutenant demanded with a broad grin. "Jesus, I wasn't really expecting you to fall through on that."

"What can I say, Lieutenant, I'm good at getting people what they need." Glenn beamed proudly and hurried off to get the rest of the things. "I just hit up the library and the local movie theatre, but it was actually an antique store that had the projector."

Eyeing the cagey Cajun, Daryl frowned. "What'd you ask for?"

"Medical marijuana," he replied casually.

"Now, there's a party," Merle said, easing down beside Daryl, wiping his blade down.

"What the hell are you up to?" Daryl demanded as Glenn returned with his arms full of what looked like an old movie projector and Michonne brought up the rear with a box of film canisters. As she set about digging a large white sheet out of one of the boxes, she began to gather a crowd.

The Lieutenant smirked. "Well, I thought we could use some leave from work for a night, but didn't think you or I were up to dancing, so I had Glenn on the lookout for a movie projector and something we could watch. What'd you find for movies, Michonne-girl?" He called out.

She smiled her mysterious smile and kicked the box in his direction. "Nothing spectacular, but at least they aren't educational films."

The men gathered around the box and began pawing through the films for something good as Glenn and Merle got out a ladder from the side of the storage shed and mounted up onto the roof of the dorms to drape the sheet.

Digging out a canister labelled 'The Man Who Shot Liberty Valance' Daryl scoffed. "You think this is a good idea? John Wayne movies at the end of the world?"

"We need the break, _cabri_." The Lieutenant insisted. "Besides, when was the last time you watched a good old movie?"

Kneeling beside the box, suddenly on the scene, Carol beamed. "Any Cary Grant?"

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As the others went through the movies available, Daryl spied Glenn move in close to Rick, whispering something to him.

Rick narrowed his eyes, but finally motioned towards Merle, saying something to Glenn.

Daryl didn't know what was up, but he was deeply intrigued and carefully got to his feet in order to move in closer to his brother as Glenn approached him.

By the time Daryl managed to move in close enough to overhear, he caught the tailend of the exchange, Merle grunting quietly.

"I wouldn't worry about it right now," he said. "We'll just have to keep our heads down for a while, hope they move on. Tomorrow you get all you can from that hardware store in town and we'll wait it out. We'll just keep off the main drag and hope they move on."

Daryl scowled at the news, but went back to looking like he was more interested in the films in the box, wasn't much he could do in his condition for the time being anyways.

By the time the movie projector and the sound system was hooked up to the generator and the sheet was properly hung from the roof of the dorms (with Grace clucking the entire time about her eaves), the majority of them had settled on Harvey and as the sun began to set, Glenn got the projector rolling.

"This is a rip off," Merle shouted as James Stewart as Elwood P. Dowd emerged from his home in shades of grey. "Where's the colour?!"

Watching the adventure of a somewhat doofy, but kind town drunk and his invisible rabbit friend Harvey, Daryl eased back against the tire of one of their vehicles, Carol snuggled in against his side and for the first time in nearly a year he forgot that the dead walked around just outside the convent walls.

"That Myrtle Mae is a scrawny broad," Merle went on. "Not bad though. I'd take her out and lay her down, in that order."

"I have a feeling she ain't that desperate." Daryl hollered back at his brother.

Against him, Carol laughed and buried her face in his shoulder and Daryl took the chance to pull her tighter against him, his damned horse of a dog nosing its way under his arm opposite her, tucking his large head up and against Daryl's shoulder as well. Lately he'd taken to being an even bigger wuss than normal and Daryl wasn't sure if it was because he was around more or because the dog sensed he nearly bumped off.

He'd almost forgotten what it was like to have some semblance of normalcy and by the time Dowd's monologue about how he liked to bathe in the warmth of the golden moments he had with Harvey came about, he realized that it was a good idea to have taken the break. Around him everyone seemed to have fallen into a serene silence, watching the movie with attentive eyes.

Daryl, kept his eyes moving, watching Rick with Judith in his arms, staring at the film, but not entirely focused on it. His brow knit ever so, jaw set firmly. He watched those moving around on the wall, eyes turning now and then to the film, hands clutching their rifles. The Cajun sitting beside his nun, Annie draped across his shins. Daryl looked at Beth sitting close to her father, Glenn and Michonne sitting off to the side, Merle hopped up on the hood of a truck, swinging his legs. He eyed with a sense of tragic loss the holes in the group where faces he once knew should have been sitting.

As the film went on, Daryl became more aware of the end of civilization than he ever had been before. In his lifetime there would be no more movies made, people wouldn't have time or patience for things such as that. There would never be any more professional baseball games or the Olympics or fast food or law and order.

Well, barring Rick, maybe lack of cops would be one good thing that came out of the end of civilization.

This was it, he supposed. This was the best they were going to get out of life now. Things were leveling off, they were beginning to think about banding together as a clan, with territory and traditions, instead of running and fighting with no thought towards the future.

Glancing towards the infirmary, he caught a glimpse of the boy who came with Cash leaning in the shadows of the building, eyes on the film, face solemn.

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"I think it's doing Rick some good to take it easy," Carol said later that night as they prepared for bed. She had to be on the wall in five hours for her shift, but it gave her time enough for a good sleep and as she set the battery powered alarm she kept tucked under their bed, Daryl toed off his boots.

Months before he would have never bothered removing his boots, the urgent need to flee at any moment had born a habit of keeping his boots on when sleeping, but the convent was fairly safe (he wouldn't chance Murphy's Law to say it was a Bastille against walkers or assholes looking to take what they had), so he had gotten back into the habit of sleeping with his feet bared to the night air.

"Think maybe he should be more concerned with getting Carl straight," Daryl replied almost sullenly. He didn't care for gossip, but the situation with Carl was a powder keg waiting for the spark to set it off and he wondered if maybe someone needed to say something about it. Rick wasn't stupid by any means, though Daryl did know from the history of his attitude towards Lori that he was sometimes blinded by his family and this worried him.

"Carl can't be forced," Carol said. "The more you push a kid the more they push back."

Yeah, he knew all about parents who liked to push. Of course, his father did it in the more literal sense. He'd push Daryl down by placing his hand on the top of his head when he was little enough to still be squashed down, then he graduated to pushing him over coffee tables and into walls and down the steps of their front porch. Of course metaphorically pushing a kid wasn't all that unappealing to him, some kids needed that push.

He wasn't sure about Carl, though. It seemed like the boy was old enough to need a good whooping to set him straight. A bigger, stronger man to put the arrogant young wolf pup in his place.

Not that Daryl would be that man, it'd have to be Rick. Even just a snap at Carl might remind him of his place in the group, in the remnants of society as a whole.

Carol was wrapping her arms around his neck when he returned to the present and the look in her eyes read trouble.

"How are you feeling tonight?" She asked, pecking a kiss to his mouth quick and sweet, but there was a troublesome undertone to it.

He scowled. "Goddamn, woman," he griped, "not ready for that yet."

"Hey, I heard you were helping Rick out yesterday with a window," she argued playfully.

"Hefting a window is a lot less work than what we do," he remarked.

"Who said you had to do anything?" She returned with a tricky little smile.

"Jesus," he murmured. If he had known Jimmy Stewart movies revved her up this much he would have found a way to show _Mr. Smith Goes to Washington_ on replay twenty-four-seven.

The next kiss was softer and lingered on his lips as Carol pressed against him as tightly as she dared with his injuries, her hips pressing into his.

Daryl settled his hands on her waist. He tried to recall one of the Lieutenant's moves to mind, knowing it'd probably be a sight more suave then any of his fumbling inept attempts. The past few days he had been watching the Cajun with his woman, hoping to catch a tip or trick to how to go about handling Carol when she got frisky. Ashamed to admit it, but he was pretty green when it came to women and at times Carol's aggressive nature made him clumsier and more like a virginal teenager than he had ever been.

Recalling a move the Lieutenant had used two days ago, one that had earned him a hard slap to his good shoulder from Grace for his 'vile habits', Daryl decided to try it, hoping Carol was a little less likely to slap.

Sliding his hand down, over her hip and behind her knee, he lifted it and used her leg to pull her in closer to him.

Her eyes widened, before she laughed and wrapped it around his waist playfully.

Well goddamn, he mused. Seemed the Cajun was on to something with that one. Well, excepting the times it earned him a slap of reproach.

Except, he thought with a wince, it brought her smack against his wound and he had to release her almost immediately before he agitated it. It was bad enough the damned thing had been itching lately as the skin knit back together, but he found in the Georgian heat the bandages broiled his wound and he had to air to more and more to dry it out properly. It wasn't infected, Mrs. Douglas had seen to that with her clean bandages twice a day, but it was getting irritated.

Carol stepped back with a grim look. "Sorry," she said. "I shouldn't have pushed you."

He scowled at himself, but she must have taken it that he was pissed off at her, because she stepped back further with a worried look.

It stopped insulting him when she got that way, he knew it was just lingering fear and nerves over Ed, but he still didn't like that she often assumed he was mad at her for things that weren't entirely her fault.

Daryl moved towards their bed, easing onto it. "It's fine," he grumbled. "Just this damned heat."

She followed him quietly and as she tucked up against his side, he felt the bed dip and another, shaggier companion wedged his way between them.

"This fucking dog is on his last leg around here," Daryl griped miserably.

Carol, draping over the beast, snuggling into his fur, laughed. "You wouldn't do anything to him," she pointed out. "I love him too much."

"Yeah well, you'll both be outside on your asses then," he replied.

Feeling a small, rough hand snake over his chest, he reached for it and pulled it against him tighter.

And that was how he fell asleep, spooned by a big grey dog and holding his woman's hand.

* * *

**The Voodoo Dialect**

**Brise** - Brise is a loa of the hills. He is boss of the woods. Brise is very fierce in appearance. He is very black and has very large proportions. Brise is actually a gentle soul and likes children. Brise lives in the chardette tree and sometimes assumes the form of an owl. Brise is a protectorate. He is strong and demanding and accepts speckled hens as sacrifices.


	25. Erzulie Jan Petro II

**Chapter Twenty-Five: Erzulie Jan Petro II**

****Old Missy****

Sister Mary Elizabeth had been lingering around the doorway of her office for nearly two whole hours while Grace mended one of Annie's dresses.

The day had been relatively slow, considering there was always something to do, but Grace had decided that Annie was outgrowing her dresses much too fast for her liking and with no knowledge of when they'd find more children's sized clothing, she decided to just try adding ruffles to the bottoms of Annie's skirts, hoping it'd work properly.

"Are you plotting something, honey, or is there another reason you're haunting my doorway?" She asked.

Mary Elizabeth furrowed her brow delicately, pulling away from sight.

Grace turned her attention back to her sewing, deciding the young woman would come around when she was ready.

Eventually Mary Elizabeth appeared back in the doorway, standing at the threshold nervously.

"Mother Superior?" She squeaked softly. "May I," she frowned, "um, I know you're not Mother Superior anymore, I mean."

"I'll always be Mother Superior to you, honey," Grace said. "Maybe not God's Mother Superior, but if you need to talk to someone…"

Mary Elizabeth took a tentative step into the room, just enough to be inside, but not at all eager to move deeper in. She looked very troubled and it was enough to cause Grace to put aside the dress for a moment to eye her. The young nun opened her mouth, but closed it again with a shake of her head.

"Let not your heart be troubled, believe in God, believe also in me," Grace said softly.

Carefully the young woman closed the door, crossed the room and eased lightly onto a chair across the desk from Grace.

"It's not my place to pry," she said. "And I'm not, but I feel you'd understand best my situation if I could ask you something. About your decision to…" she trailed off, searching for a way to say what she was heading for.

Grace, knowing exactly what the woman was trying to get at, smiled gently. "Why I abandoned my vows?"

Mary Elizabeth looked down at her hands, clasped tightly in her lap. "It's just. Lately I've been having, well, I've been struggling with things. The way the world's gone, our role, God's role. I mean, we've been given guns and told to shoot at creatures who were once human and…still human, I suppose, though…How would you know? I mean, how'd you feel when you made the decision? Do you think God's," she swallowed thickly and leaned in ever so to whisper, "do you think he's abandoned us? Has the world really ended? I mean, the rapture and the dead rising and I don't feel that feeling I had when I took my vows. And if it is the rapture and we weren't taken to heaven, then are we being punished? Is this a test of faith or are we meant to still be here? Did God leave us on Earth to…what? How will I know if perhaps I'm still doing God's work or if he intends for my plans to change?"

"Mary Elizabeth, let me tell you a story, bear with me it may be long, but it may help." Setting down her sewing, Grace eased back in her chair, resting her spine and eyes from her work for the moment. "I joined the order - I got called to the fold one day when I was eighteen. I was baking brownies for the summer watermelon festival our church had. I was fresh out of high school, looking at my future and trying hard to find a place for myself. I was mixing the batter, humming a hymn to myself when. It was almost like a cloud parted and the sun came out in full force, the day was blissful, green grass, fluttering butterflies, the magnolia blossoms were just beginning to wilt and fall from the trees, still clinging to the spring , I suppose. God called to me. I had just that winter attended the funeral of a dear friend and had no real intentions to give my heart to anyone but God and so I talked to my step-father about taking my vows. I was raised Baptist, but when my mother remarried, I was converted to Catholic, so I figured he'd know best how I could serve God and man at the same time. I became a nun, it didn't seem like such a large step for me. I loved my duties as a nun, I liked simple things, still do. I suppose I'm very dull in that I find traditions and culture to be my idea of perfection. Heaven for me is a rocking chair on a covered porch and honeymoon whist with a smiling, companion, so life as a nun was probably the only thing I've ever been cut out for. As the Mother Superior of this convent, I was quite possibly at my happiest. I had wanted something more, I suppose. I felt like I wasn't doing good here, when I could have been working the missions in Africa or South America, but I couldn't have asked for a better placement in retrospect. When things began to go wrong with the world, when I realized things had gone wrong, I was confused and horrified and when I looked to God. I prayed day and night until my knees were bruised and my knuckles scraped from worrying my fingers during prayer. But I found Him absent and while to this day I still turn to Him, I," she paused, frowning. "I'm not saying God has left us on our own, but He may have His hands full of more important things at the moment and I have to say that the comfort I've found with Lafayette in God's absence is," she stopped again, it was hard to put into words how she felt. "I will and always shall be a servant of God and perhaps it is just weakness of the flesh, but I must admit that it's nice to have the freedom to choose. I can't tell you when your doubts are right or wrong, but I can say that you've seen the step I've taken back into the secular world. The other sisters are very understanding and kind about it, they've never made me feel like a devil for it and I think whatever you decide, you'll never be alone." Reaching across the desk, she took hold of Mary Elizabeth's hand and squeezed it gently. "God is merciful, most merciful, I honestly think He would understand given the situation we're in."

"But what if it's a test?" Mary Elizabeth asked. "What if he's testing our faith?"

"Okay," Grace said, sitting back in her chair. "I'm going to talk to you, woman to woman, for once God will not factor into it. I left the order, I abandoned my vows. And yes, I'm involved with Lafayette, at the moment it's still very innocent, but I admit at times I've felt the sin of lust creeping upon me, but, honey, I'm happy. The dead are walking around, the end times have come, the four horsemen are scruffy and one of them has a blade where a hand should be and God is preoccupied, but I'm happy. I've found that place for myself, the one I have been looking for since the age of eighteen. And whether God forgives me or not, I can't control it. A mere woman like myself can never even begin to understand what God thinks or what He finds punishable. I've always been of the school of theology that believes God to be merciful, not wrathful and merciful means empathic and understanding. My situation isn't yours, I can't tell you what to decide, but I wouldn't think too much with your brain. Follow your heart, that's where God speaks to us when prayer fails."

Mary Elizabeth nodded. "It's just. I feel that as a secular woman I'd feel more comfortable holding a weapon or…" she worried her bottom lip, "Mr. Mamet has this notebook and today he was scrawling in it a genealogy tree of our tribe, that's what he calls us, he said that in four or five generations we'd be forced to start inbreeding. That's only if we don't get fresh blood in our group and well I was thinking, we'd have a better chance at survival in the long run if even…it's not temptation of the flesh, I'm thinking logically. To serve God, to keep His word and His teachings alive, perhaps we'd better serve Him at this moment in time, if we integrated with the others more. If we helped to build a future for ourselves. If our tribe continues on, if we keep these people alive, then we can better keep God alive as well, couldn't we?"

"Honey," Grace began with a wry smile, "I'm not going to be the one to give you the go ahead to go out and perpetuate our 'tribe' by impregnating yourself."

"Long term though," she said with shining eyes, "we'd be doing a service, wouldn't we? Mr. Mamet figures if even you and the Lieutenant had a child—"

"I'm a little old for that, honey."

"If," she insisted. "We'd have one more generation before the inbreeding event as he called it. But if the sisters, even one or two of us were to offer our wombs, we could keep our tribe alive longer, long enough, at least, to perhaps make peace with more groups, take in fresh blood—"

"I think, Mary Elizabeth, short term, my concerns are surviving and finding a way to salvage this dress. You would do well to ask Sister Mary Claire to start taking Mr. Mamet his meals. I think he's worrying you far more than necessary."

"I think I'll reflect on God and my role with Him a little longer, Mother Superior," Mary Elizabeth explained, standing up and brushing the skirts of her dress off. "But you've helped me more than you'll ever know, thank you."

"I hope you find peace, honey." She returned as Mary Elizabeth skittered out of the room like the little church mouse she was.

Still, Grace furrowed her brow at the door. She had certainly never thought that far into the future, lately it had been day to day survival. Whether the game was still thick enough for Merle to hunt, whether they could can enough or grow enough to survive the winter, all these things were top of her list of things to think about daily, but she had never given any thought to the long term.

It did make sense. In their group, if the new woman and her son remained with them, they only had four children (counting Carl as he was young enough, she supposed). But if there was no more children born, there wouldn't be a new generation.

She realized that they were indeed a tribe now, with their own culture and traditions and unless they wanted to become like the Beothuk's, they'd need to continue their tribe in any way necessary.

Suddenly, Grace was hit with the reality of the long term. As much as no one wanted to think of it while the threat of the abominations was still lingering, they'd need to worry about perpetuating their people or Judith and Annie would be the last of them. Even then, if no children were born, by the time the older generations were gone, who'd be there to take care of Judith and Annie, to have their backs in times of trouble?

There would need to be some serious thought put into this, she realized. Something she'd dismissed as the whimsical worries of a young woman was something quite serious when given detailed thought.

She'd talk to Carol first, Carol was someone who she trusted to put serious thought into the matter and there wasn't anyone whose opinion she held higher than hers.

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Carol was weeding her rose patch when Grace found her later on, the woman was kneeling down, plucking out weeds and churning the earth around the wild roses Daryl had planted for her, when Grace eased down on the grass at her side.

"Haven't seen hide nor hair of you all day," Carol greeted.

"I've been trying to give Annie at least one more year with her dresses," Grace returned.

"I bet if you asked Glenn, he'd be able to find you the right sized clothing for her."

"Well, Annie is growing like a wild thistle daily, I wouldn't be able to give him the right size. We'd need to actually drag Annie out and get her to try things on, it'd save that poor boy from bringing home fifty thousand pounds of children's clothing each time he left the convent."

Carol smiled. "I remember now. Sophia used to hate trying on clothes."

"Carol?" Grace asked, getting down to brass tacks. "May I ask you something? It's something that's recently been brought to my attention and I'd like a second opinion on the matter."

Brushing her hands off, Carol rocked back onto her bottom, eyes darting to where Rick was entertaining Judith and Annie with weeding the vegetable garden. Like Grace, her eyes were always darting to check on the whereabouts of the children.

"What is it?" She asked.

Feeling foolish and unsure how to approach the topic without sounding ridiculous, Grace worried her bottom lip for a moment, before tilting her head. "Have you given the future of this group any real thought?"

"Not really, beyond getting ready for winter already and thinking about other useful survival tips we could utilize."

"Today it was pointed out to me that should we continue to remain fairly isolated our group may eventually trickle down to nothing."

Deeply interested, Carol moved in closer to Grace. "You mean like losing people to the walkers?"

"No," Grace frowned at the grass. "How many children are in the group, Carol?"

"Judith and Annie, and that new boy Nadir." Carol replied.

"And how many do you see being born any time soon?" Grace went on.

Not as obtuse as most, Carol's mildly confused face transformed into one of understanding and she inhaled. "Oh, you mean the _future_ future." She was quiet for a moment. "I suppose we have a bit of a duty to keep our people going in the long run, hm?"

"Well, not you or I, certainly," Grace said with a breathy laugh. "I think bearing children is a young woman's game."

"Well, I can't have anymore," Carol said. "But…can you?"

Grace shook her head quickly, "that isn't at all what I wanted to discuss with you, really." She said. "I just wanted to know if we should perhaps make this known to the others, maybe it would encourage them to start thinking more about our group's future. Sister Mary Elizabeth said that Mr. Mamet was doing some research into the bloodlines of our group's future. I thought maybe you'd like to get in on this discussion."

"Well," Carol said, "I think first thing, I'd like to talk to Milton, see what he's got figured out."

"I think that's a good idea, Carol, I don't know why I didn't think of it."

Carol smirked roguishly. "Well, you had babies on the brain."

"Not me, certainly," Grace returned archly, eyeing the Lieutenant who was unhelpfully lying on a small stack of two by six boards as Karen and Glenn hauled them off the back of the truck Glenn was using to gather supplies from the DIY store in the nearby town. "And certainly not with that Cajun creature. Good heavens, Carol, he's like a stray dog and he's getting worse every day with nothing to occupy him."

"Well," Carol said as they stood up to go and talk with Milton in the infirmary, "he was playing Risk with Daryl earlier but you know how that game always ends and it's never good."

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When they entered the infirmary Milton was buried beneath piles of papers, furiously scribbling on his rolling hospital tray, while the new guy eyed him quietly.

Grace offered the hard-to-like man a gentle smile and he returned it with a nod. It seemed without someone to piss off he became withdrawn and easily bored. And because Milton was such a docile fellow, none of the taunts the man, Cash, threw his way made a dent. It soon passed that Cash just kept his mouth shut and existed, watched over by Father O'Rourke who didn't seem capable of rising to any of his nonsense as well.

The priest nodded a greeting to the women as they passed, turning back to his bible and afternoon tea.

"Mr. Mamet," Grace greeted. "How are you today?"

The adorable, bespectacled man looked up at her quietly. "Grace, Carol," he said in his soft, mild-mannered way. "You're both about the same age, right?"

"I think I'm older by a few years," Grace returned.

Milton frowned. "How many?"

Grace and Carol looked at each other.

"Forty-four," Carol said.

"Three," Grace returned to Milton.

Milton recorded this on his crowded piece of paper.

"Whatever are you writing, Mr. Mamet?" Grace asked.

"Records," he said. "For future reference."

"I see. Mr. Mamet, could we speak with you about something you said to Sister Mary Elizabeth?"

"The subject of Jesus' gender was mere speculation, Sister," Milton said hurriedly. "I didn't mean offence by it."

"Not that, honey," Grace assured him, before she stopped. "Wait, what?"

Carol broke in gently. "Milton, you were doing some speculation on the group's future?"

Milton smiled brightly, proud to have the chance to show off his hard work. "I was making speculations on the bloodlines of our tribe, yes. Would you like to see the chart?"

"Yes, please."

Scrambling through his papers, Milton eventually pulled out a particular chunk of papers, all taped together to form a large poster sized chart.

"You, see, by making rough estimates about lineage, I've managed to get a rough idea of when our group would be in genetic trouble should we continue to disallow newcomers. This is only to see for myself how long, given good weather, clement winters and lack of infected outbreaks, our tribe will live on in a healthy manner."

Smoothing out the chart, Grace and Carol both looked it over.

"You have a theoretical child marked down for me and the Lieutenant?" Grace demanded.

Milton nodded proudly. "Yes, the age of menopause in women has been getting pushed back in the last few decades and from the information I've been able to wean from sources around the convent, I know that you still menstruate, so you very well could bear a child. This is all theoretical…" he slowed down nervously, "of course." Swallowing thickly at Grace's disapproving look, Milton's smile faded. "Well," he began, "I had to be fairly accurate in my estimates."

"Who told you about my," she struggled for a way to word it, "time of the month?" Grace inquired, holding a hand to the base of her throat, feeling bared to world.

"Oh, my sources can't be named."

"Milton, I can't bear children, if that will help your research," Carol said.

Milton looked disappointed. "Well, that's awful for you, Carol. I've come to understand that you're a very good mother figure. But on the upside, what tribes of our kind need are matrons and nursemaids, especially with the dangers to children these days."

Studying the chart further, Grace frowned. "Wait, you aren't on here."

"No," Milton said. "The statistics on me finding someone with whom to bear a child would be fairly slim, so I didn't bother."

Carol reached out and touched a kind hand to Milton's shoulder as Grace eased onto a spot on the bed, moving a few papers over to do so.

"Okay," she said. "So, what would you recommend us to do to prepare for the continuation of our group?"

"Well," Milton began, eyes flashing, eager to lend his expertise, "I think the more children we have sooner, the better chance we'd have to continue for longer. Plus, if we brought in fresh blood now and then, it couldn't hurt our chances, but that's more for down the line."

"But more mouths to feed would mean the need for more food," Carol pointed out.

Milton nodded. "Yes, I've thought of that. I've already spoken with Merle and he thinks we could easily extend our wall before winter. Even if we extend it about ten feet out behind the dorms, we could have more room for more garden and maybe another dormitory, plus we could clear some forest, plant some wheat fields outside our walls and I was planning on testing the structure of Father O'Rourke's little home to see if we could build another story on it for more people to live in. Also, if what Glenn tells me is true and the infected are thinning out outside the walls, then we'd be a lot safer to plant a field nearby. Of course this would be in a few years, but I can assure you, the need for all that will be great then. If my estimations are correct and I can get the solar panels up and running, we'd have a fairly decent place here for furthering our tribe's civilization."

"Would you continue to think about this for us, Mr. Mamet?" Grace asked. "To do the thinking about the future for us? Advise us on what needs to be done?"

Milton nodded. "Of course, I sort of thought you might want to know, I was just waiting until I compiled everything neatly.

Pushing to her feet, Grace smiled at him. "And, honey, I'm willing to forget about you knowing of my lady period if you make me a solemn promise?"

"Anything," he returned.

"Don't tell Lafayette about this theoretical child of ours, it'd make my life a lot harder to bear."

The man nodded. "Sure."

"And you come to us when you're ready to present everything, when the time comes we'll gather everyone, they should all know about this."

* * *

**Nice to see all you loyal reviewers sticking by me with patience! ^_^**

**Merle's Right Hand** - Curling is oddly fascinating, I must say.

**trinitee64** - For a second I read that as saw and thought, sure, why not?

**itsi3** - I did have fun in the Amazon, until I tried to liberate a golden idol and some French jerk got a local tribe to chase me to my plane. Long story short, there was a snake on that mother fucking plane. No bueno.

**Brazen Hussy** - Good to be back! Missed all my reviewers! ^_^

**BanannaFlvdSnow** - Harvey is a wonderful movie. But then again I have a thing for Jimmy Stewart, so...

**missdaryldixon** - Aw, thanks. A little ego stroking is good for an author's health and that just made me healthier than an apple eating llama.


	26. Congo Savanne III

**Chapter Twenty-Six: Congo Savanne III**

****Merle****

"I swear to God if you don't get your damned gumbo eating, frog ass off these boards," Merle tiraded as Karen and Glenn unloaded the truck, or at least they were trying hard to unload the truck. "I'm going to clean your colon with my blade hand."

Flopped on top of the pile of lumber, the Lieutenant winced, but still managed a charming grin after it. "_Mais_, Merle, that almost sounds like you're coming on to me."

"Keep it up, smartass," Merle warned darkly.

Finding the Cajun wisely choosing to avoid pissing him off further, Merle glowered at the man as he carefully slid off the pile of lumber and limped his sorry ass over to where Daryl was actually making himself useful, stripping more branches for bolts for his weapon.

"You know, _Grande Beede_," the Cajun began, grunting as he eased onto the church steps, "I sometimes think we don't have enough time spent together, you and me."

"Thank fuck," Merle replied. "You'd find yourself stuck and bleeding like a pig within an hour. I don't put up with shit like my baby bro does."

"No," the Lieutenant replied, "but we never get the chance to stir up trouble, _capon_."

"I think you got yourself into enough trouble, dumb ass," Merle said, pointedly eyeing his neck wound.

"Yeah, but not with you," he retorted.

Merle sighed. "Just keep out from underfoot."

Before he could return to helping unload the truck, he spied Grace heading for the dorms, her face looking very dark. In fact, Merle would have beat cheeks out of her way had he been anywhere near her, she looked so foul.

Catching sight of the group of them on the church steps, she paused at the door to the dorms, Annie and her dog Boo at her heel, Grace seemed to huff, before heading towards them.

"Merle," she greeted coolly. "Daryl, honey, how are you feeling?"

Carol, who was about ten steps behind Grace, heading for the dorms, followed her, joining them quietly.

Daryl shrugged. "Fine."

"I'm fine too, magpie," the Cajun said with a suave grin.

The woman shifted uncomfortably on her feet, clasping her hands before her and bowing her head. "Good."

"You ladies beating some information out of that asshole in the infirmary?" Merle inquired.

"Of course not," Grace said quickly. "We were just paying a visit."

Carol nodded. "Checking on Milton."

Merle chuckled. "Checking in on his harebrained idea about breeding the hell out of the women folk?" He teased.

Grace's eyes snapped up to his face and she turned white as a sheet. "I don't know what you're talking about. Breeding women," she scoffed, "of all things."

"Breeding women?" The Lieutenant asked.

"No more of this talk in front of Annie, please," Grace snapped. "The very idea is…not something a young lady should bear witness to."

"Milton thinks," Merle went on, ignoring her with a small, proud grin, knowing full well he was pissing off the nun, "that the more women who bear children now—"

"Mister Dixon," Grace insisted firmly, "I'm sure where you come from talking about reproduction in front of a child is acceptable, but here in my convent you'll mind your tongue."

By this point everyone had stopped what they were doing to eye her, even Glenn and Karen had moved away from the truck to watch.

The former nun, realizing her outburst was a little too much, flushed and backed down nervously.

"Mister Dixon, please?" She asked softly.

Turning to the Cajun with a tiny grin, Merle found the soldier watching Grace with a quirked brow.

Taking Annie's hand, Grace quietly cleared her throat and scurried away, the dog at her heels, the little girl barely able to keep up.

Carol remained quiet, easing down beside Daryl.

Everyone was quiet for a bit, before Glenn cleared his throat. "What was up with that?"

Carol became the centre of attention as the one woman who was with Grace just prior to the outburst.

She looked uncomfortable. "She's been feeling a little sick all day."

"Sick huh?" Merle inquired, casting an accusing, mildly proud look at the Cajun. "Just in the morning or…?"

Before anyone could say anything about this, Noah came skittering up, his sneakers sliding over the grass, his hands falling to his knees as he puffed and wheezed. "Biter," he gasped, "near the gate."

"And?" Daryl demanded.

Karen, moving to calm her son, glanced around at them.

Noah, still struggling to catch his breath, shook his head. "He's acting real weird…just staggering about…in circles…like a mad dog."

This seemed to interest Merle more than just another rotting asshole, so he shifted on his feet, before making his way towards the gate, the others close behind him.

As he arrived at the wrought iron entrance, he peered through the bars to find an emaciated looking biter sort of dragging it's ass about like a confused old woman. It's greenish-grey face had been scratched at, with deep gouges raked into the paper-like flesh that remained to its skull. As the thing moved about in a wobbly circle, it continued to idly scratch at his face.

On the wall, with her rifle trained on it, Sister Mary Agnes spoke, "I was going to put him down, but…that isn't normal for one of those things, is it?"

"How long has it been since we last saw one around here?" Carol asked.

"About two weeks," Glenn answered. "Remember the one in the pretty dress?"

Frowning, Merle turned to the Asian. "When was the last time you saw one out and about?"

"Last week, but he wasn't in much better shape than this one." Glenn replied.

"Yeah, I saw one a couple of days ago out hunting, liking a walking skeleton, didn't put up much fight, but what the hell is this one doing?" Merle said, pointing to Beth who was on the wall beside Mary Agnes. "Go and get Milton, I want his brainy input. Sister?" He asked Mary Claire who was guarding the gate, "get this gate unlocked. I'm going to try and catch this thing before it tears off into the woods on us, someone get some rope."

"Sure you want to wrangle this uggie, _capon_?" The Lieutenant asked, as he and Daryl finally caught up with them, moving at their slow, limping pace.

"Hell," Merle replied, "you might get a show, dumb ass."

"Careful," Daryl said as Glenn ran back with a length of rope.

Beth raced over from the infirmary. "Mr. Mamet says you shouldn't touch him, he wants to observe it untouched."

"Well, he better get his ass out here then, because I don't know how long the damned ugly thing is going to stick around."

Wrapping her arms around her ribs, Carol scowled at the thing. "He doesn't even realize we're here." She observed.

As Milton was wheeled out of the infirmary by Father O'Rourke, who handed him over to Beth in order to get back to watching the new guy, Merle motioned to Glenn to get ready to catch the thing.

By the time Milton arrived at the gate, he was leaning in the wheelchair as it bumped over the uneven lawn of the convent, eager to catch sight of the thing.

Rick, handing Judith over to Mrs. Douglas, emerged from the dorms with her at the action happening in the yard and moved to join them. Grace and Herschel coming out of the building after them curious about the commotion the shuffler was causing.

At the last few yards to the gate, Milton, ignoring his injuries, leapt from the wheelchair and hobbled over quickly, eyes on the thing beyond the gate. Adjusting his glasses, he drew his mouth in a grim line, before smiling.

"I thought so," he murmured to himself, pulling out a notebook and pen. Handing the notebook over to Beth to hold, while he scribbled furiously in it with his good arm, observing the thing.

"What's happening with it?" Glenn asked.

"His brain's deteriorating, he's essentially dying right before our eyes," Milton replied hastily. "I figured the rate of decomposition was slower than ours, due to movement which simulated a mild form of blood flow to keep extremities working, but I didn't think they'd live forever. This one," he motioned to it as it faltered and fell to one knee, only to get back up and continue its wobbly path, "is on his last leg. Brain function is grinding to a slow halt right before our eyes. This is amazing. Do you realize what this means? This means we've effectively waited them out, a majority of them. There will always be stragglers, but this…this is good news!"

"So? What do we do about him?" Merle demanded.

Milton adjusted his glasses, still scribbling notes in the little book Beth held for him. "I'd like this specimen, if you would be so helpful, Merle?"

"Dead or alive?"

"Dead," he said. "I want to take a peek at his brain, see how badly deteriorated it is."

"And how do I kill him without damaging his brain?" Merle snarled.

"Just cut the head off, he can live all he wants, I just need the head right now anyways."

"A living walker head inside these walls?" Rick demanded. "That's a hell no."

"He won't be able to do much," Milton argued.

"It could still bite," Rick argued.

"You're a cop," Merle growled, heading for the gate. "Don't tell me you don't know what they do to biters in prison."

Rick sneered in mild disgust at the idea as Daryl turned to Glenn and sent him for a hammer and pliers.

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That night, as Milton laboured over his newfound, rotting treasure, Merle managed to ease into a spot between Mrs. Douglas and Father O'Rourke around the campfire as a few of the others handed out the evening meal.

He was due to walk the wall in an hour, but wanted to just rest for a bit, get some food in his belly and enjoy the others who seemed to like to chat and sing and tell stories around the campfire in the moments when the world around them was dark and cold.

Since a lot of the responsibility had fallen on him, he had taken to sitting with them, to hear their concerns and worries. It wasn't like he gave a shit really, but he wanted to know where a lot of them stood.

It seemed the campfire was for being open and honest, some hippie bullshit, but he liked that it afforded him a way of eavesdropping that didn't end in him being punched or berated. Plus the Cajun would occasionally tell a good yarn or Beth would sing a song in that cute, high pitched voice of hers that while Merle continued to scowl through them, he found he enjoyed a little more than he should.

As Glenn strummed idly at a guitar he reclaimed from the antique store where they found the projector, Beth hummed at his side and began to sing an Eagles song as Mary Agnes walked over with a bowl of rice and rabbit for him.

Merle took the bowl with what he felt was a very charming grin, to which she tilted her head at him in acknowledgement, before returning to the kitchens of the dorms to get more.

Despite the empty gnawing in his gut, he handed his bowl over to Mrs. Douglas and pushed to his feet again to follow the nun, trailing her in the dark quietly.

"I know you're on my tail, Mr. Dixon," she said softly as they stepped into the shadows of the peach tree by the garden.

"Wasn't trying to hide it," he replied.

Turning, the woman waited for him patiently, even in the dark of night he could see her gentle smile and it encouraged him to smile back.

"You're really coming about, aren't you?" She asked.

"In what way?" He rasped.

"I mean, for us, you're doing good by us and for us, you've come a long way from that man who woke up cursing in our infirmary." She returned.

"I'm still that man, sister," he replied. "Though I feel decades older than him some days."

Slipping her hand into the crook of his blade elbow, the nun walked at his side quietly.

"You wouldn't cry rape if I kissed you, would you?" He asked.

She laughed. "You are direct, aren't you, Mr. Dixon?"

"I just don't want Officer Friendly to handcuff me to a roof again," he returned.

Arriving at the back door that lead straight into the dormitory's kitchen, Sister Mary Agnes turned to eye him in the soft candlelight that was pouring out of the window and her face was encouraging.

"I suppose, it would depend on the type of kiss and the reason why you'd want to kiss me," she said.

Merle frowned. "Well, how about I give you a kiss somewhere between Aunt Edith and panty soaker, because I think you're the only woman who doesn't look at me like I should be living in the belltower and throwing my own shit."

"The kiss sounds lovely," she said. "But the reason seems a little weak. Don't you love me at all?"

"Love has never factored into anything I've ever decided to do," he stated.

Mary Agnes looked a little disappointed by this and bowed her head. "I'm sorry you think like that, Mr. Dixon."

As she went to open the door to hurry inside, he quickly shut it again, manoeuvering himself between her and the door with a grin. "Of course, I've never been one to walk away from trying new things."

"And I've never been one for selling myself because a man thinks I'm the only shot he has at getting some sex," she returned softly, placing a hand on his chest and leaning in. "Try some tenderness, Mr. Dixon, it goes a long way in winning a woman's heart."

"Never been tender in my life," he said with a shake of his head. "I'm not planning on starting now."

"Then you'll never know tenderness in return, Merle," she pointed out, ducking under his arm and prying the door open enough to slip inside.

"Jesus," he growled to himself. How hard was that woman going to make him work for a fucking kiss? Fuck it, he thought, he'd find something easier to keep him warm.

By the time he got back to the campfire, Herschel was telling a story about the time he delivered triplet calves to a Brown Swiss and how the third calf born was a pain in the ass to pull out.

Across the fire from him, Daryl sat with Carol tucked against his side and Merle scowled. If a scrawny little runt like his baby brother could find some tail, why the hell couldn't he?

Hell, even the dumb ass coonass got himself some nun, though at the moment the woman was sitting beside the soldier looking like she'd be anywhere but, with her face drawn and looking downright spinsterly.

Merle took a look at his options of single women, if he was supposed to help the group by breeding then he wanted to lock his down ASAP. Michonne would probably still kill him with that fucking sword of hers if she had the chance, Karen, who made it clear that she wanted a man who'd accept her weak assed son as well, a handful of nuns who'd be just as much work if not more than Mary Agnes, Beth whose daddy would probably kill him if he even tried to talk to her alone and Andrea, who had slept with ol' Phil and obviously had no standards.

Andrea seemed like the pony he'd bet on. But that broken leg of hers - the one that had already gobbled up too much of their anti-biotics - would be a hard thing to handle when it came to a tumble in the hay.

So, with no real options, Merle decided his best bet would be to find a way to be tender with Mary Agnes. Of course, he'd have to be careful, if the other guys caught on to him being a pansy assed bitch, they'd horse laugh him right out of the convent.

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**missdaryldixon - Don't feel bad about laughing at Milton, half his lines were meant to be sort of awkwardly funny. He's kind of the nerdy type that gets too excited about SCIENCE! ^_^ Also, yes, yes I would totally allow the Lt. to breed me. Any kid had by him would only be a cute little devil.**

**vickih - Milton is adorkable!**

**Brazen Hussy - By now you should know that any Merle chapter is basically all yours. I hope you enjoyed it!**

**Claire Randall Fraser - I agree! Hey, weirder things have happened, right?**

**trinitee64 - I never thought of it like that. Good point.**

**Merle's Right Hand - Are you thinking Milton's source may be the same source that runs the gossip grapevine, because you may or may not be right.**

**Girl in a White Dress - Nice to see you caught up. Also thanks for the other kind reviews!**

**ldyjaydin - Not going to lie, but I want Milton to prove himself wrong about not having anyone interested. He needs a nerdy little lab assistant.**

**GG - Nah, me and creature from the Black Lagoon, we're tight. And the anaconda didn't want none, because I got no buns, hon.**


	27. Damballah III

**This chapter wasn't intended to exist, but there was some curiosity over the way Grace was acting so...you know what? I think it worked out good though.**

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**Chapter Twenty-Seven: Damballah III**

****Old Missy****

As soon as it neared Annie's bedtime, as soon as the night air began to chill them as they sat around the campfire, she headed inside, knowing full well he'd be at her heels as he seemed to do as of late.

The idea of bearing a child was still sitting heavy in her mind, she didn't much care for the idea, it seemed racy enough that she slept in the same bed with the bold Cajun, but the thought of engaging in 'other' activities with him didn't seem like it was something for her. Well, not in the immediate future anyways.

Inside the dorms, after they all did their pre-bedtime rituals, settling Annie in for bed with the Cajun hovering just behind her to say his goodnights to the little girl, Grace smiled as Boo curled up right under Annie's chin, the small dog nuzzling her muzzle into the space between Annie's chest and throat.

"Do you think if we threw the Lieutenant from the bell tower, he'd be able to fly if he really wanted to?"

Grace laughed as behind her the Cajun's face fell and he looked genuinely shocked.

"It wouldn't hurt him if he fell, he'd land in the walnut tree." Annie insisted.

"_Possede_," the Lieutenant scolded lightly, easing onto the bed beside Grace to tip Annie's chin up and tap her nose in quick succession.

Playfully snapping her teeth at his hand, Annie squealed as he then leaned down and blew a raspberry against her cheek.

"Your beard scratches," she complained, still giggling.

"He's going to get shaved before bed, honey," Grace insisted firmly, giving the Cajun a stern look.

He beamed at her. "Of course, wouldn't want people to think civilization has fallen."

"We could throw Mother Mena off the bell tower too, she'd want to be in the tree with you." Annie pointed out, completely jumping topics as children often did.

"Would she?"

"Um-hm, and then you'd be K-I-S-S-I-N-G," she broke off with a giggle.

"Only a month ago you could barely spell 'hello'," the Lieutenant teased. "And now you're spelling dirty things about me and Mother Mena in a tree."

Annie reached up with both arms and wrapped them around his neck, pulling him down to touch her nose to his. "I love you," she whispered softly.

Grace smiled as the soldier touched his pointed nose to Annie's, rubbing it with a grin.

"_Je t'aime, boo_." He whispered, before kissing her forehead. "Now get some sleep, yeah?"

"Um-hm."

Grace swooped in at last, tucking Annie in carefully, adjusting the bedding around her, before leaning down and kissing her cheek. "You know where we'll be if you need us."

"What if I need to come in and you're kissing?" Annie asked.

"Doesn't matter, sweetheart," Grace insisted, "because that's all we'll be doing."

"What's breeding?" Annie asked suddenly.

"Of all things," Grace huffed, casting a quick glance in the direction of the Cajun standing at the end of Annie's bed. Even in the dark she could see his damned eyes twinkling devilishly. "That word is one you don't need to worry about for a long time."

"Is it dirty?" The little girl went on. "Is breeding what you and the Lieutenant do when nobody is around."

Grace felt her face go white hot and she began to shake a little, her nerves touched. "Annie Louise," she warned sternly. "Bedtime."

"Must be dirty," the little one muttered.

"Annie," the Lieutenant stepped in, his tone actually holding some command to it.

Watching as the little one immediately clamped her eyes shut and feigned sleeping, Grace turned to the Cajun in mild shock. She had never heard that tone from him before, and while it wasn't mean, it was strict and she had a sneaking suspicion it came from years of instructing Marines.

Slipping out of Annie's room, she allowed Lafayette to close the door behind them, before turning to him curiously.

In the near dark she tried to read his eyes for any hint that he was actually angry, but found him looking as benign as ever.

"Sometimes just a little spice with the sugar," he pointed out, as though reading her mind. "Or they'll walk all over you," he finished with a grin.

"Are you talking children or Marines, Fate?" She inquired.

"Both very similar," he pointed out, holding open the door into the lavatory for her, grabbing the heavy plastic jug they kept just inside the door for use for oral hygiene things.

The thought of Milton getting the washroom up and running again sounded like bliss, something Grace didn't ever admit, but she enjoyed the clean feeling of running water.

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"So," he began, after spitting in the drain, setting his toothbrush aside, "you've been tense and nervous like a wild filly all evening…"

Still working at her back molars, she eyed him in the mirror as he stood at her side at the sink. Leaning forward, she politely spit, trying hard not to make a production out of it.

"Have I?"

"I'm thinking," he went on, "that it's either one of two things. One, you realized - with all this breeding talk - that eventually our relationship may culminate in sex or two, you don't like children."

Rinsing out her toothbrush, she set it beside his in the cup that seemed packed with toothbrushes, most of them scrawled on in permanent marker on the handles. The sisters used to keep their toiletries with them in their rooms before the abominations, but with people changing beds almost nightly, it was just easier for them to keep their toiletries labelled into the bathroom.

She turned to the soldier, who was struggling to remove his sling. Reaching out she helped him, quietly sliding it off his shoulder and unbuttoning the row of fake pearl buttons that stood down the front of his shirt. Until his shoulder healed she had given him button ups to wear, but she had to admit she missed his khaki tees. They were more him and more familiar.

"So?" He asked, opening and closing his hand as his arm was freed from the sling. "How can I help you, magpie?"

Quietly lifting the bandages on his shoulder wound, she inspected it, before pulling the gauze and tape off completely.

"You can help me," she said, rinsing a cloth under the water from the jug and gently daubing at his wound to clean it, "by going a little easier on yourself. You'll heal faster if you take it easy, honey."

Frowning a little, before a wicked look flickered over his face, he tilted his chin down and smiled at her, one eyebrow rising ever so. "So, you want me to stay in bed then?"

"I would like it if you took a few days in bed, yes."

"I get bored just lying around in bed, _cher_. At one time, incentive had been discussed, but…"

Rubbing the salve on his wound that Glenn had found for her, Grace smiled gently at her Cajun, unable to really be offended by his wicked ways when he was standing so battered and broken before her. His ribs were still green and yellow from where he'd been kicked, his shoulder and neck still healing around the sterilized fishing line Mrs. Douglas had used on him, his face drawn and pale from effort and what she feared was a mild infection somewhere.

"So?" He urged. "Tell me what's wrong and I'll see what I can do to fix it."

She smiled at him widely, hand resting over the fresh bandage she had just slipped over his wound, reaching for the medical tape they kept in a little lidded soap dish beside the sink. "It's not broken plumbing, my love," she teased. "You can't take a monkey wrench and start twisting some pipes."

Grasping her by the hips, the Cajun hefted her up off the ground and deposited her on the counter beside the sink.

"Lafayette," she scolded quickly, "your arm."

"Don't care," he murmured, caging her in with his arms on either side of her hips, leaning down to look her in the eye. "What's wrong, magpie? Getting cold feet about our relationship?"

She rolled her eyes. "You're impossible, you giant redwood," she stated, pushing him away gently. "Of course not. Stay there," she ordered, spreading her legs to open the cabinet between them, bending down to reach inside for his shaving kit. As she straightened up with the little black leather case, she found him smirking at her and scowled. "May as well civilize you while I'm up here," she pointed out.

"You're avoiding the topic," he said.

"I'm getting to it," she replied snappishly, wetting a face cloth to dampen his face. She paused to play with the fringe of dark hair that was beginning to flop across his forehead and smiled. "You'll need a haircut soon," she mused to herself.

Dropping his mouth to hers, the Cajun took a moment to kiss her generously, both arms moving to embrace her tightly, trapping the cloth and her hand between them. Because he was such a force, she kissed him back, not at all regretful that she was 'forced' to.

In his arms things seemed to matter a lot less than they did when she was just floundering on the wind by herself. She had to admit that the strength she felt, pressed against his hard body as she was, didn't hurt the feeling of security he gave her.

Freeing her trapped hand, she dropped the cloth and slid her palm over his side gingerly, mindful of his bruises. His stubble scratched her chin and rasped roughly over her lips as he moved his mouth down from hers, heading towards her neck.

Grace dropped her head back, allowing him to continue, smiling a little at the ceiling overhead. The stubble wasn't so bad on her throat, in fact, it kind of felt lovely.

"So?" He rumbled against her collarbone, large hand running up the back of her calf to slide under her thigh on the counter. "What's wrong, _pie bavarde_?"

"I trust you," she whispered, snaking her arms around his neck now as he began to straighten up. "But for now, can you promise me that you won't…" she paused. "I don't want you to grow tired of me because I'm not ready for…sex yet."

Touching a long finger to his lips, Grace could tell the Cajun was trying to rein in the grin that was causing his eyes to sparkle, after a good, long moment of him controlling his laughter at her and her growing more indignant he removed his hand from his mouth and tilted his head in amusement.

"Gracie-girl," he began carefully, "I'm not one of Pavlov's dogs. I don't begin salivating for flesh the instant someone says the word 'breed'."

"My neck says otherwise, honey," she replied, wiping at it to get her point across.

"But that's the sweetest part of you," he drawled in a voice that sounded almost like he was pulling a Bela Lugosi on her, moving in to ravish her throat again.

She allowed him to slake his thirst for a moment, laughing as his stubble raked her delicate flesh and he clearly began nibbling at her throat like a vampire.

"Alright, you massive redwood," she said finally, pushing against him for freedom, using both her hands and her feet to move the solid soldier, "you're chaffing my neck with your beard."

Leaning his face close to hers, he smiled and kissed her mouth. "You don't feel forced by me, _cher_?"

"No."

"Then don't worry about sex," he stated. "I love every bit of you and just sleeping with you in my arms has proven to be pretty thrilling for me. Besides," he added, dragging himself away from her with the devil in his eyes, "I still have one good hand and plenty of privacy in the bell tower."

She tsked warningly at him. "Dirty man."

"I can't help it if you get me wound up," he returned with a chuckle. "Parading that perfect little Georgian peach rear end of yours around."

"Wolf," she growled.

"You know what you do to me every time you swing your hips in those jeans of yours, _jolie catin_," he remarked. "Don't act like you don't."

"Maybe a little," she admitted with a small grin.

"I knew it," he returned, moving back between her knees to kiss her again.

"You really do care for me, don't you?" She asked him as they pulled apart.

"Gracie," he mildly scolded, "I love you. And I'm perfectly happy the way we are, breeding like rabbits or not."

"I never said 'like rabbits'," she argued.

He beamed roguishly at her.

As she finally set about finishing with his bandages and began shaving him, she went on thoughtfully.

"It may help though, wouldn't it? I was thinking about when our generation is gone, Annie wouldn't have many people left for her," she said, swiping the razor under his chin carefully. "People to watch over her and to help her out like we have."

"_Mais_," he began as she rinsed the razor off, "for now let's put a pin in that. My concerns in the immediate future about Annie involve what exactly she's learning from 'Mr. Dixon' and how to get a weapon in her hand that she's comfortable with."

"You should think about the future, though," Grace insisted.

"Hm," he took a step back, holding on to her upper arms in order to keep her where she was, eyes drinking her in from head to toe.

She began to squirm under his gaze. "Wha—"

"Shh," he warned, still eyeing her contemplatively.

Grace tucked her hair behind her ear nervously, wetting her bottom lip. "Honey—"

"Shh, I'm thinking about the future." He urged, touching a finger to her lips.

Just as she was beginning to think about kicking him in the shin, he nodded.

"Okay," he said, "I've given it some serious thought. Marry me."

Grace blinked evenly at him, before slipping off the counter. "Goodnight, honey."

"I'm serious," he argued lightly, cutting off her exit.

"So am I, _goodnight_," she insisted. "Shave yourself, since you have the energy."

He dropped to one knee, wincing as it jarred his ribs and beamed up at her. "Marry me, magpie."

"You're serious, aren't you?"

He looked around, before nodding. "Why I wouldn't be?"

"Because you never are." She said. "Because you think with all this breeding talk that you need to lay claim and because I don't think you've honestly thought about the world we live in now."

He frowned up at her. "I'm not an animal marking my territory, Gracie-girl. Don't insult me by suggesting I am. I plan on being with you for a long time, but I know you and I know you'd prefer to make it official in the eyes of God and in all honesty it would do the people here a deal of good to have a celebration of love instead of another burial service. Now, don't try to find insult in any of that, I know you will because you want to find insult to avoid the question. I asked, all you have to do is say 'yes' or 'no'."

"I'm half tempted to say 'no' just to deflate that smug air of superiority you have wrapped yourself in," she stated, running her hands idly through his hair.

"I can't really see in the candlelight like this, are you angry or not at me?" He inquired.

Leaning down, she kissed his forehead, even with him on his knee and her standing, he was still a redwood of a man. "I won't do a gaudy ceremony, I'm far too old for a silly white gown and to be honest in this day and age it wouldn't be sensible. But I think a dance and a nice meal of sorts would be lovely."

"Is that a 'yes' then, or…?"

All she could think about was the Cajun's propensity for getting over excited and how exhausting the next morning would be for her, but dropping her gaze back to the ridiculous soldier on his knee, she pursed her lip to hide the smile at the thought of the nights she'd spend with him, feeling perhaps a little less nervous about the relationship if they were bound in the eyes of God, she nodded.

"Yes, honey, that was a 'yes'."

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**missdaryldixon** - I can't really lie, I don't often pair canon characters with OC's, but...well...Mary Agnes does seem to have the patience Merle needs.

**DarylDixon'sLover** - Thanks!

**itsi3** - Actually, due to your review, I had this chapter written for you. I wasn't going to, but I'm kind of glad I did. So thanks! ^_^

**GG** - I really hope people don't mind if I slip in a Milton chapter next. I kind of want him to really gush over his severed treasure.

**shelly2** - Merle/Andrea huh?

**Surplus Imagination** - I think if the show gave Merle more of a chance he'd slowly come around like Daryl did. Not saying that I felt pity for him, he was a bit much, but he had potential.

**Brazen Hussy** - I'm hoping for more Merle in this story, also more Rick as some point. But yes, more Merle is lovely, he breaks up the sweet.

**Claire Randall Fraser** - I'm glad you enjoyed that line. It was kind of bluntly true. But yes, especially Merle, he doesn't realize how close he comes to a lot of things, only to 'Merle' it up.

**HGRHfan35** - Merle and tenderness do not belong together often, but I think he really needs to learn some to bag him a nun.

**Arisprite** - Well, thanks a lot for your review! You pretty much summed up how I felt about Merle too. He had such potential, after all Daryl wasn't exactly loveable to begin with, it took a little love and compassion to turn him into a team player. Also, don't feel bad about going on too long with reviews like yours, they're the reason I keep writing, so really, thanks. ^_^

**luthielearfalas** - I honestly wasn't going to write this chapter, but reviews like yours and itsi3's had me thinking that I should and...well as said above, I'm glad I did.

**newsqueen123** - That Dixon charm, I tell you, they could bottle and sell it. ^_^


	28. Belie Belcan

**Chapter Twenty-Eight: Belie Belcan  
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****Daryl****

"You know that idiot is probably going to be the first dumb ass to have a baby," Daryl growled as they sat on the wall together later that night. Carol had wall duty and he had painfully hauled himself up to sit beside her as she watched the entire east wall up and down for walkers.

Carol smiled at the darkness, lit only by the flashlight she held to shine up and down the wall. "Grace wouldn't have that, trust me."

"There's something there though," Daryl said. "About what Milton said, about babies and building our group up. Walkers are dying off, leaving us with what? People who'll hunt us down for what we have? Chaos, anarchy? We need something. We need to start looking towards something. Survival ain't just fighting anymore, it's thriving."

Carol rubbed her arms to ward of the Georgian night chill.

"Well," she began wistfully, "I do miss taking care of Judith, it'd be nice to have another baby around."

Feeling the need to protect his woman, even if it was from something as innocuous as the cool air, Daryl wrapped his arm around Carol and pulled her in against him. Maybe it was because he somehow knew she wasn't all that cold, but that she was yearning for a child who was no longer there.

It pissed him off that he felt so useless when it came to Carol, to giving her back her baby. It would nearly cripple her to see women having children all around her, he knew it. Carol was one of those women who deep down was just a mother, she had to be a mother to someone and it hurt him that he couldn't help.

But on his side of things, maybe it was a good thing that Carol couldn't have another child, he didn't think he'd make a very good daddy.

To his shock Carol began to shake in his arms and she turned her head as a sob tore through her chest.

Daryl froze, not sure how to handle the situation.

Quickly smudging her tears across her cheeks, Carol offered him a shaky smile.

"Sorry, I'm sorry," she whispered.

Since she was already in his arms, he pulled her in tighter. "Need to get it out?" He asked, hoping it was the right thing to say.

"It's nothing," she said. "I'm just being foolish and so damned emotional."

He blinked at her, wondering if there was a script he was supposed to follow when a woman said something like that. Fuck, if someone ever wrote one, he was sure they'd make a mint off it.

"I sometimes think about her," Carol admitted. "I wonder what she'd make of the convent and Annie, I know she'd love to play with Annie."

Scratching a rough hand over his chin scruff, Daryl continued to remain quiet, hoping he could get away with saying nothing.

"She'd have liked it here, the nuns and the Lieutenant," Carol went on. "She'd have a small little bed in our shack with rainbows on the comforter, she liked rainbows."

Deciding Carol was living in the 'what if's' and the 'if only's' too long, Daryl wet his bottom lip and said, "would you ever want another?"

Carol laughed, it was breathy and light. "It doesn't matter. I can't."

"I know, but…if you could?"

"Maybe, the weird thing was that Sophia and I got along better than just mother and child, she was my best friend for the longest time, the only person in the world who talked to me like I wasn't someone to pity or a stranger, she understood me better than anyone in the world. I think I would like that, to have another baby to love and to love me in return," she said softly, still chasing her tears away with the heel of her hand. "Are you disappointed that I can't give you one?" She asked after a moment.

Daryl shook his head. "I got you, that's all I need."

She smiled broadly at him, before looking away almost shyly, when she looked back her eyes were sparkling with mischief. "We can keep pretending to try," she said with a wry grin.

"Trying's half the fun," he replied. "Hell," he went on, "we can keep 'trying' until the world ends if you want."

"Can't think of anything I'd like more," she stated.

Daryl scoffed. "Sorry I'm all you could find."

"You're all I want." She said, wrapping her arms around him tightly and resting her head on his chest, just under his chin.

He stroked her hair, feeling her natural curls snarling around his fingers. When he was a young man he someone felt like he was always looking for something, beating down people and things that stood in his way, he had always thought it was betterment for himself, to prove he wasn't some dumb hick, but maybe what he was really searching for was one person to hold in the night. Maybe it was Carol he was fighting his entire life to find.

It seemed stupid to think like that, but with her in his arms, he realized he didn't need or want anything else. Just her.

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The next morning, after 'trying' twice and then making no attempt at breeding once (but somehow ending with the same result), Daryl was making his way across the convent lawns, when he came across Rick, who was holding Judith in his arms and staring in the direction of the north wall.

Daryl joined him, following his gaze to find the Cajun on the wall, just standing there, both arms dangling.

"He alright?" Daryl asked.

"I don't know, he's been there since sun up," Rick returned.

Clapping the man on the shoulder, telling him wordlessly that he had it handled, Daryl made off, heading for the wall and the soldier on it.

"Where's your sling, dumb ass?" Daryl demanded, pulling his battered body up onto the ledge of the wall beside the Cajun.

"Don't need it, Herschel says my wound healed enough," the tall man replied, still eyeing the road that lead from the convent. "How are you doing?"

"Still feel like shit."

"Well, you nearly died, so that's understandable, _cabri_."

"So did you."

Turning to him with a quirked brow, the Cajun nodded, shifting on his feet, before he spoke again. "I'm due back in bed today." He said with a grin. "You?"

"Carol will probably try, but you know, hard to sit still," Daryl pointed out.

"Can I ask you something, Daryl?"

Having difficulties recalling if the Cajun ever called him by his God's honest name before, Daryl took a moment before nodding. "Alright."

"What does a man wear when he marries a nun?"

"Fucked if I know, a beard and a white robe?" Daryl returned. "Why?"

"No, don't think I'll get away with the beard," the Cajun said.

Not an idiot by half, Daryl squinted at the Lieutenant. "Getting married, huh?"

"Well, _cabri_, thinking about the future turns a wise man to thoughts of family."

"So how'd _you_ reach this conclusion then, dumb ass?" Daryl asked.

"I knew a man once, said he never thought he'd ever marry. This man, he lived his entire young life for drinking and gambling and doing everything but settling down," the Lieutenant began.

Knowing his habit of telling stories that could go on and on for hours, Daryl eased down onto the ledge, the Cajun following carefully.

"This man, he never wanted a wife, never went out with the same woman twice, he thought marriage was a prison-like institution. Now, the way I heard it, he was driving one night, it was a cold night on the bayou. I mean, cold, cold, the type of cold that feels like the end of the world to us down on the bayou and this man, driving his beat up old Chevy in the rain on a lonely backroad near Basile, that's in the Acadia Parish of Louisiana, you see. This man, he comes across this nymph wandering the road, blue dress soaked through, broken Mary Jane in her hand. So he pulls over, this is before the days when anyone wandering the road was considered a head case. Now this man, this maverick of bachelors, asks this pretty little nymph, soaked through to the bone and chattering in the cold, if she needed a ride. The way I heard it, she was this tiny, sort of high born type of lady, petite, fine boned and on that night, she was done up, very pretty, like a proper Cajun queen. She looks this man up and down, gauging him before making her decision, bright grey eyes dancing over him and despite the cold and the rain, she refuses the ride.

Deciding to respect her wishes, the man drives on, but as he reaches a bend in the road, where it keeps on down a worn old trail, heading for Bayou Nezpique, the rains began to really come down, almost like a hurricane.

So, he pulls his truck over and thinks about it, not wanting to pester the lady, but not wanting to leave her alone on the lonely stretch of road, he struggles with himself for a bit, before deciding that the secondary road was far too remote to just leave her and she was already drenched and chattering when he pulled up alongside her the first time. So this man, he turns his truck around and he finds her, still making her way, barefoot in the rain.

This time when he pulls up, he decides to introduce himself, hoping to put her at ease, before he repeats his question, whether she needed a ride or not.

And this lady, this small little slip of a girl, she laughs at him and again refuses.

'Whyever for?' the man asks. 'I'm perfectly harmless and the rain is cold and you'll be sick come morning if you keep on walking'.

'_Mais_,' says she, 'I heard all about you and I think I'm safer in the cold and damp then in that truck at your side'.

'Heard all about me?' The man asks. 'Just what have you heard?'

'About the trail of broken hearts you leave in your wake', she says.

The man, thinking this a great reputation to have, gave a laugh. 'That so?' He asks.

'You can save your laughter and deflate that puffed chest of yours', the lady snaps. 'I'd much rather chance my death than jump into the snake pit with the likes of you'.

Eyeing her broken shoe and the way her teeth clacked, the man suddenly feels like pull of humanity and even though he's a cad, he realizes that he doesn't want the pretty thing to catch ill, so he tries again.

'Would you get in this truck if I promised to be a gentleman?' Says he.

She laughs at him stubbornly. 'I wouldn't get in that truck if my daddy were here saying it was perfectly safe.'

'Then you're a bad girl,' the man says. 'If you wouldn't listen to your daddy.'

'I'm a perfectly good girl,' she argues. 'But there's no way in hell that I'd ride with you.'

Thinking about this, and realizing that perhaps his reputation had gotten a little out of hand, the man finally says. 'Girl, would you climb on in this truck if I promised that I'd fix your shoe and send you home in drier clothes?'

'_Bon rien_,' she states. 'I wouldn't get into that truck if I were naked and needed the clothes.'

Deciding that it was indeed a serious thing to have a theoretical naked woman refuse a ride from him, the man tried once more.

'_Jolie catin_," says he in the grand manner of a proper gentleman. 'Would you get in this here truck if I were to promise to marry you?'

To this the woman laughed, her damp hair flying out as she threw her head back in the rain. '_Couyon_,' she says. 'I'd rather marry the devil himself then get in that truck with you.'

'So far,' he begins, 'you've proven yourself a bad girl who don't listen to her daddy, who would rather be naked than safe and warm, who'd rather marry the devil instead of me. _Mais_, what I see,' he goes on, 'is someone far worse than me.'

The girl laughs again. 'Fate Vancoughnett,' she says, 'last week when you had me in that truck cab, you called me 'Jeanne'! Don't be telling me about being a wicked person.'"

Daryl broke in. "That was you?"

"No, my _papere_, the lady walking was named Grace LaFourche, my _mamere_."

"So? How'd they end up married then?"

The Cajun beamed. "After negotiating with my _mamere_ for about an hour, my _papere_ found himself driving up the driveway to her home, so she never actually got in the truck with him, but he stayed beside her driving, in case she needed shelter from the rain. Her daddy came out and ran him off with his shotgun, ended the night fairly abruptly.

A few weeks later, my _mamere_ tracks him down, hops into his truck cab and says 'so here I am, you gonna marry me or what?'"

"Why?"

"Hell of a thing, marriage, it's easy as hell to do and a lot of people do it haphazardly, but when you know, you know. And she knew. I tell you this, _cabri_, to the day he died, my _papere_ had no other on the mind but her and she him."

"Bullshit," Daryl stated. "No offence, Cajun, but your gramps sounded like he wouldn't settle down just because your grams jumped into his truck."

The Lieutenant snorted in amusement. "You ever look at Carol, _cabri_, and think 'this is all I want'. Her body beside yours? Times being what they are, marriage isn't really necessary, but my girl, she needs it. She needs God to witness it, you see?"

Daryl nodded once. "Yup."

"So what does a man wear when marrying a nun?"

"Whatever it is, can't be any worse than that country and western piece of shit she has you in now," Daryl replied, slipping off the wall.

The Cajun took a quick look at the roses and swirls on the shoulders and at the cuffs of the blue shirt he wore and shrugged. "Couldn't find anything better that fit me."

"Whatever, Wyatt Earp."

"Hey, _cabri_," the Cajun stopped him, kneeling carefully on the wall to speak with him. "I'm going to need a best man, think you want that position?"

Daryl thought about this. He'd never really been one before. "I guess."

"Course," the Lieutenant began, "in this day and age, that means going back to the tradition of making sure no barbarian horde sweeps in here uninvited and carries off my bride."

"Think I can handle that," Daryl replied. "So, when's the day?"

"Don't know, after we deal with these _salauds_ in our territory, I suppose."

"You got your eyes back outside these walls, Fay?"

"No, not yet. Two days in bed I promised her, but…soon. The sooner we scout out their numbers and where they're hunkered down, the better I'd feel, yeah?"

Daryl nodded. "I got your back when you do."

The Lieutenant smirked. "Carol okay with that?"

"She will be."

**************************____********************..-~-..**

* * *

**The Voodoo Dialect**

**Belie Belcan - **He is considered the loa of justice who defends people against evil and enemies. He is considered very polite, understanding, and protective by his devotees. His Catholic Saint counterpart is Saint Michael the Archangel. He is said to work very well with Anaisa Pye, a female loa whose counterpart is Saint Anne. Therefore, in Dominican households, one will often find images of Saint Michael next to images of Saint Anne.

* * *

**The Cajun Dialect**

**Bon rien** - Good for nothing man.

* * *

**All you reviewers are delightful people, all you readers who don't review are delightful people. Anyone who doesn't nit pick this silly fanfiction are delightful people. I'm just too lazy to reply to reviews today, so...**


	29. Met Kafu

**Chapter Twenty-Nine: Met Kafu**

****Nadir****

He was moving through the hall of the main building, carrying a heavy jug of water that one of the ladies asked him to fetch from the water pump out back, when the head nun poked her nose out of her bedroom like a nervous mouse, sniffing the air for signs of trouble, before ducking her head out.

Nadir, passing by just as she did this, stopped to look at her as she eyed him in mild shock.

"Oh, good morning, honey," the woman greeted, pulling the large, button up shirt she wore over her tank top nervously around her. It looked like it was eight sizes too big for her.

He nodded. "Good morning."

"Where are you heading under that heavy load?" She asked, moving to relieve him of his burden.

He stepped back. "I have it, thank you. The blonde woman asked me to bring this to the front for the men leaving to hunt."

"How's your mother settling in?" The woman asked, walking alongside him.

Nadir blinked. "She's fine, thank you."

"How are you settling in, honey?"

"Very well, thank you."

"And your…um, Mr. Cash?"

"He's fine, thank you."

Setting a polite hand on his shoulder, the woman pulled him to a stop. "You know you can come to me if you or your mother need anything, right sweetheart?"

Nadir bowed his head. "Yes, thank you. You've all been very nice to us." He had to admit that he wasn't sure about the people who had taken them in. He didn't trust many after what happened to his family in Arkansas, but the people in this group seemed like they only had good intentions. Truth was he sort of had a chance to observe them quietly as he wandered around. He was too small to be noticed, too quiet to encourage conversation, but he liked it like that. It gave him a chance to get deep inside the heart of the group.

At the door to the front of the dorms, the woman opened the door for him, after first poking her head out to cautiously look about.

Nadir tilted his head at this, her actions were almost as though she were afraid.

Parting ways with her as she spied the tall soldier standing on the wall, Nadir continued on towards the men and women who were gathering around a truck.

Carefully he set the water jug down on the back of the open tailgate of the truck, stepping back and nodding to the big man with the blade hand. "Water for you," he said quietly.

"Yeah, thanks," the man said in his rough tone.

Nadir stepped further back, keeping close to watch the proceedings, but far enough away to stay out from under foot. Settling his back against the nearby wall of the priest's small little bungalow home that butted up against the outer walls of the place on the east side.

As the man called Merle, with the blade, packed up some weapons in the truck, and the woman with the sword doled out water into canteens for the others, Nadir spied the man named Rick milling about nearby, his baby girl in his arms.

Pushing away from the wall, Nadir headed for the infirmary as his mother left it and Cash behind. He passed by the scruffy man named Daryl as he stood in the shadows of the church with Carol, both of them deep in conversation.

"—amazed he wasn't shouting it from the bell tower," Carol mused as Nadir passed.

"Give him time," Daryl replied.

Weaving between the buildings, Nadir brushed by the soldier and his lady on the way into the dorms.

"—my shirt, huh?" The soldier asked.

"Incentive, honey." The woman replied.

"What about _your_ shirt?"

Hurrying beyond the table Mr. Mamet had set up on the lawn just to the side of one of the sheds, where a dead man's head had been stuck in a bowl so that he could dissect it, the man's glove covered arms were coated in blackened blood from the rest of the thing's body, his face covered by a surgical mask as he operated. Nadir held his nose against the stink, as Sister Mary Claire helped Mr. Mamet, the old man named Herschel and the old woman, Mrs. Douglas watching in curiously.

"See the rate of decay in the brainstem?" Mr. Mamet was gushing as he breezed past. "It's basically soup."

Catching up with his mother, Nadir fell in step at her side, smiling as she stroked his hair with a small comforting smile cast in his direction, he beamed at her.

"Have you been making yourself useful?" His mother asked in their language.

Nadir nodded. "Yes, mama."

Pulling to a slow stop, Nadir's mother motioned to the little girl from the group who was emerging from the dorms, rubbing her eyes sleepily, followed closely by the younger blonde woman and her dog.

"Why don't you go and play with that little girl, Nadir?" His mother asked. "She must be so lonely."

"I don't want to, mama," Nadir said. "She's so young."

"Nadir, be nice," his mother warned. "Go ask her if she wants to play."

Obeying his mother, the boy parted from her, heading for the little girl who was dragging her dog off the ground and trying hard to continue walking with her dog in her arms.

"You think she'd punch me if I asked though?" Glenn asked the lady named Karen, as Nadir hurried past them, trying to catch up with the little girl.

"Excuse me?" Nadir asked the little girl as he caught up with her and the blonde woman. "Excuse me, little girl?"

Annie, the little girl, turned around with Beth to eye him as he approached.

"What do you want?" She demanded.

Nadir paused, he supposed he had been sort of rude to her earlier, but he wasn't expecting her to bite back. It kind of made him mad that she took it so hard.

Scowling, he looked over at the older girl who was with Annie.

"My mother says I should ask if you would like to play," he said.

"No."

"Annie, that's unfair," the blonde urged. "Why don't the two of you go and play on your swing?"

"No." The little girl insisted, putting her dog down and shoving her small hand onto her hip. "He smells and it's my swing, he can go make his own."

Frowning deeply, Nadir shrugged. "Okay."

As the spoiled little girl stormed off, Nadir kicked his foot idly at the foundation of the church, before spying a clump of dirt that had been upturned when the flower bed had been weeded and worked.

He stooped and picked it up, tossing it in his hand, eyeing the retreating girl's backside for a moment, before a wicked urge came over him.

Without much thought, he whipped the dirt clod at her bottom and hit it smack on, a cloud of dry dirt exploding as it struck.

Turning with a shocked expression, the girl looked around for the source of the hit and found him standing in the shadows of the building, pulling a face.

She pulled one back.

Incensed by the little girl, Nadir pulled an uglier face.

With wide eyes, Annie clenched her hands into tightly balled up fists and screamed across the convent lawn at him. "You're a stupid asshole!"

As everyone who had been standing around fell quiet, Nadir ducked around the corner of the church, out of sight with a blank expression. He wasn't sure how to take that. Surely the girl would get in big trouble for using that kind of language, he didn't like her, but he didn't want to get her in trouble.

Peeking around the corner cautiously, he spied the adults who were still loading up the trucks to go on a run, all still standing stock still, eyes on the little girl who, realizing how much trouble she was in, began to weep softly.

It was that Rick fellow, the one who beat up Cash, who swooped in, handing his baby girl to the blonde and scooping Annie up in his arms, saying, "I'll deal with this. No need to bother Grace."

Annie began to bawl louder now, thinking herself in real trouble and Nadir, worried for her, hurried to the other end of the church, as Rick took the little girl out behind it.

"Please don't tell on me, Mr. Rick?!" Annie sobbed, almost pleaded, as Rick settled on an old stone bench in the cemetery behind the church with Annie in his arms.

Nadir watched quietly as the man chuckled, stroking Annie's hair. "It's alright, sweetheart," he assured her. "Calm down. Want to tell me what happened?"

Annie shook her head as she laid it against Rick's shoulder.

Feeling a tug of guilt and missing his daddy and baby sister more at the sight of them, Nadir took a quiet step out from his hiding place, but ducked back when Annie turned angry eyes on him.

He waited behind the wall for the longest time, before peeking out again.

Rick was still holding Annie gently, stroking her hair and her back in order to get her to calm down, murmuring soft nothings and sounds to her.

"You won't tell on me will you, Mr. Rick?" Annie begged, sniffing against his shoulder.

"You know what you did wrong, don't you?" He asked.

"I'm not supposed to say 'asshole'," Annie mumbled.

"Well, between you and me and that boy hiding over by the church," the man went on, causing Nadir to duck out of sight again, "no one needs to know that I didn't punish you."

Annie's arms wrapped around Rick's neck tightly and she kissed him on the cheek. "Thank you. I'm sorry I said a bad word." She said.

Pulling away from the corner, Nadir slumped against the wall of the church in the shade. Deciding he lingered long enough, Nadir pulled out of the shadows and headed for the infirmary. He missed his father and he wanted to see Cash, Cash was blunt and sometimes he got a little short with Nadir, but he could always be counted on to distract him.

Inside the infirmary Cash was busy trying to scratch his leg with a rolled up piece of paper, his arms and legs still strapped to the cot he was in for precautions, the paper not even getting further than his hip.

"Hey, kid," Cash greeted, "do me a favour, find me something to scratch my shin with, would you?"

"Or I could just do it for you," Nadir pointed out.

"I'm not sure what the rules are on kids touching grown men who aren't their dad's," Cash returned. "Just get me something longer."

"Why not get the priest-man to help?" Nadir asked, pointing at the other adult who sat in the corner of the infirmary with them, watching over Cash, book in hand.

"Hey, kid," Cash began sternly, "when you get to be my age, you realize the less a priest puts his hands on you, the better."

"Why?" Nadir asked, moving to find Cash something with which to scratch his itch.

"You'll understand when you get older, kid."

"About what?" Nadir went on, finding a coat hanger near the door, hanging behind it in a little cloak area. Bending it straight, he handed it over.

Cash began to vigorously scratch at his shin with it. "Just drop it."

"The hanger?"

"You know something, just forget it, alright? What are you doing here?" He growled in frustration as the hanger fell from his hands.

Nadir handed it back to him and then plopped onto the side of the bed. "Nothing, Cash."

"Well, that's a steaming load." He argued, distracted by his scratching. "You know what my daddy used to do when I'd get pissy like this? He'd throw a bottle at my head and tell me to put down my purse and pick up the glass. Fucking comedian," Cash ended bitterly, satisfied with his scratch enough to set the coat hanger aside.

Nadir pulled a face. "I don't like it here."

"Yeah, well it's not much better out there."

Remembering what it was like in Little Rock, what the men who killed his daddy was like, how Cash was when they first met him, Nadir nodded. He had to admit that compared to the Little Rock group, these people were basically the best they could hope for.

"Are they really going to catch up with you, Cash?"

The blond man shrugged, sniffing uncomfortably. "Fuck 'em. I get my ass back inside Madonna, I'm golden." He fell silent, studying Nadir with his green eyes, before continuing. "Don't worry, kid, you're safe here. Better off with these people then my sorry ass, right?"

Nadir shrugged. "Why do you have to go?"

"Because I'm trouble and I'm no good to these people here, I'll only bring them hell. Hey," he said firmly. "You have to think about what's best for your mama, right? You're the man of the family now."

"My mother doesn't want you to leave either," Nadir said.

"Well, she was in here earlier, still can't understand a fucking word she says, but I know a 'I'm-better-off-without-you' look when I see one."

"You lie," Nadir insisted.

"Do I? Or maybe I'm the only one who spits the truth around here, ever think of that?"

"I always think of your lies and they _are_ lies." Nadir said, fidgeting with a thread that had fallen out of its place on the worn blanket Cash was swaddled in.

"Well, calling me a liar ain't going to keep my ass around," Cash argued. "Why don't you go out and play or something, kid. Do some dumb kid shit for once. Steal a car, punch a cop, you know?"

Nadir smiled.

"I once took a piss on a cop car, because I could," Cash went on. "During a presidential motorcade parade, cop car was still moving down main."

Nadir laughed. "You're lying again."

"Hell yeah, I am! You think I'm a liar, then I'm fucking doing nothing but from now on."

Still laughing a little, Nadir turned his brown eyes on Cash as his smile faded. "Cash?"

"What?"

"Will you tell me one truth?"

"Maybe."

"Do you like me and my mother?"

Cash blinked at him. "Nope."

The little smile that appeared at the corners of Cash's mouth told Nadir everything he wanted to know about the man who saved them from the group in Little Rock, it brought a broad grin to his usually sombre features.

"Hey," Cash said after a bit, "why don't you poke around here and see if you can track me down some smokes, I'm nic fitting like a little bitch."

**************************____********************..-~-..**

* * *

**The Voodoo Dialect**

**Met Kafu** - As a "trickster and a destroyer of life", Met Kafu is probably not the first Loa you should go seeking assistance from. He is a well-known teller of lies and causer of trouble and mischief. Met Kafu is likened to the Christian devil and is probably the last loa you'd want to invoke.

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**DarylDixon'sLover** - O_o

**missdaryldixon** - Gah, your review was very lovely. And I agree, maybe the Lt taking the plunge might inspire Daryl. You think?

**HaloHunter89** - I hope it wasn't during class or at work or something...

**Brazen Hussy** - I really want a chapter of Merle drinking with Cash, think those two might get along...also a Merle chapter with him getting some love.

**Merle's Right Hand** - I'm glad I fulfilled everything on your checklist.

**itsi3** - Your dream sounds delightful. Hot Cajun soldiers are something everyone should dream about.

**GG** - I think Fertile Myrtle is perhaps the greatest thing I've read in years. It was seriously so funny it took me a moment of staring at it stone faced before I began laughing.

**BanannaFlvdSnow** - I do enjoy Milton's nerdgasming. I hope to have a full chapter devoted to it soon.


	30. Pie

**Chapter Thirty: Pie**

****Rick****

Holding Annie until she was all cried out, reminded him of just how much he enjoyed being a father. It pained him to think Carl was cutting himself off, was forced to grow up and away from him and how every time he held Judith, despite trying hard to just be her father without question, how deep down inside, he wondered. That niggling feeling of whether or not he was actually her father or if she was Shane's.

All his shortcomings seemed to flash across his mind as he stroked Annie's hair and her back until she stopped crying and calmed enough to pull back from his damp shoulder, her beautiful little face flushed from her tears. Rick could see that given time and the right amount of nourishment, the little girl would bloom one day into a very beautiful young woman, she just had that spark about her.

"Better?" He asked.

Rubbing at her eyes, she shook her head.

Thinking of Sophia, Rick swallowed hard and pulled Annie against him again.

Among the sea of regrets that was growing daily, Sophia was one of his biggest. Leaving her alone in the woods as he did, just leaving her there was his biggest regret. There wasn't a night that went by that he thought of Sophia's frightened, freckled face peering out at him from that hole, the image flickering before his eyes in the quiet moments before sleep, always prolonged his rest.

He didn't know how Carol could even stand to look at him, didn't understand how she had forgiven him for it.

Jesus, how did a man claw his way back to redemption from that? It was almost too late at this point.

Resting his cheek on the top of Annie's head, Rick held her tighter, his thoughts turning to the women of the group. They had been little girls too, they all had been children once. Where was the comfort for them during the end of the world?

Hell, where was the comfort for any of them?

He thought of the scene from the morning, envisioning a little boy sitting on the wall with scruffy dark blond hair and a little mole to the left of his mouth, teasing a scrawny, rail thin Cajun boy. He imagined a young Asian boy in a baseball cap, eagerly helping out an older boy with closely cropped hair and a baseball glove on his right hand, they were loading up bicycles instead of a truck. Two girls sitting on the front stoop of the dorms, playing cat's cradle, one of them with big blue eyes and a little flower tucked into her short, gently curled hair, the other wearing Mary Jane's and a little puffy black dress with a white lace collar. And then on the wall a girl playing with a wooden sword was walking, keeping watch over a boy with glasses as he removed the stuffing from a teddy bear eagerly.

These people, his people, they were still children. He still needed to keep them safe, but what he needed to do for them more than anything, was comfort them.

But safety was comfort, wasn't it?

He realized what the group needed wasn't a leader or a dictator, but a father. Gentle guidance, protection, comfort, they needed to play and enjoy life, because children needed that. His people, his children, needed words of wisdom and patience.

Turning his thoughts to his son, Rick sighed heavily. How could he provide the group with fatherly protection and guidance if his own son was running amok, pissing people off and disrespecting everyone?

A form eased onto the bench beside him and Rick glanced over to find Herschel there, wearing an old straw hat to keep the Georgian sun off his head and settling his crutch to one side. The hat must have become a force of habit for him now, as the skies overhead were grey and promised rain, though Herschel still wore it.

Even as Rick though of this, he could have sworn he felt the trickling drops of rain spitting at him from the murky skies overhead.

"That Mamet boy sure enjoys his dissections," the old man greeted.

In his arms, Annie turned her head and chirped. "Hi, Grandpa Herschel."

"Hello, pumpkin."

"Is he finished, then?" Rick asked.

Herschel nodded. "He's handing it over to Michonne and Karen to drag out back to burn."

"So? What's the conclusion?"

"They won't live forever, but because of degradation in the brain, Milton thinks that they could be more dangerous now. Less like hunters sniffing the air and stalking their prey and more like rabid raccoons, turning on anything that moves."

"Worse than before, huh? Well, that's good to know."

"But there hasn't been a sighting around here since that one or for a short while before."

"Meaning?"

"They're dying off, maybe? They headed West and got lost out in the desert? Hell, all the gun toting cowboys in Texas could have done most of them in before they even reached the coast. Pick any or all."

Glenn, skittering dangerously around the corner of the church, hopped the short little wrought iron fence that separated the cemetery from the rest of the churchyard and skidded to a halt before them, eyes wide.

"Rick, there's someone coming up the road."

"What? A vehicle?"

He shook his head, puffing. "No, just someone walking."

Standing up with Annie in his arms, Rick scowled. "Just one? Are you sure it's not a walker?"

"It's a man, can't make him out through the binoculars yet."

Setting Annie on her feet, Rick nodded. "Merle on it?"

"Yeah, he wants you with him." Glenn said.

"Herschel—"

"I'll take the little lady inside." The old man said.

Running behind Glenn for the front of the church, heading for the north wall, Rick grabbed up a rifle from Karen's hand on the way by as she held it out for him from the back of the truck they were loading and jumped onto the top of the wall to kneel beside Merle who was peering through a pair of binoculars at the speck on the road in the distance.

Silently he handed them over for Rick to get a glimpse of the figure.

"That ain't no biter," Merle said.

Rick squinted into the binoculars, but couldn't make out the man at all, dropping them into Merle's hand, he turned to Glenn who was waiting below for orders.

"Get the Lieutenant up in the bell tower, we need a sharpshooter in case this is an attack and let the others know they're on lock down until we get this sorted."

"One man?" Sister Joan asked from nearby where she knelt with her rifle raised in preparation as well, by now the rain was spitting a little harder and Rick could smell a storm in the air.

"Could be a trick of sorts." Rick murmured, checking his rifle quickly, accepting more cartridges from the nun with a nod of his head, tucking the spare ammo into his shirt pocket. "I don't like the idea of just one man walking down the road like this. Joan, hurry to the others on the wall, tell them to get down off it until they hear gunshots, we don't want to be sitting ducks up here."

The nun nodded and hopping down, scurried off to relay his message.

With a rapidly beating heart, Rick eyed the figure as it made its way up the road, still looking like a fly speck.

"Dad," Carl said from below. "Give me my gun back, I can help."

"Carl, you go into the infirmary and keep watch over Andrea and Cash." Rick ordered.

"With what kind of weapon?" His son demanded.

"Get inventive," Merle growled.

"He has to know he's a sitting duck out in the open like that," Rick commented. It was the reason why it sat uneasily in his gut, why he was convinced someone was screwing with them.

Merle raised the binoculars up.

"Friendly face?" Rick asked.

"Nothing yet."

Glancing behind him, Rick spied Daryl and the Lieutenant emerging from the dorms, the Cajun with his rifle in hand, heading for the church to give them an eye in the sky, Daryl with his crossbow, slinking off to give them coverage in the back. Carol and Grace came out a while after, both women armed and spreading out.

Turning his face back in the direction of the figure parading up their cattle trail, Rick found Merle thrusting the binoculars at him. "He familiar?"

Rick looked through them.

In the distance walked a young man, dressed head to toe in full military combat gear, heading up the trail, gun shouldered, hands in full sight, one at his side, the other clutching the strap. As he tilted his chin up to take in his surroundings, Rick caught a glimpse of his face, it was fairly clean shaven and young, but unfamiliar.

"Soldier?" He muttered as the skies opened up and dumped load of heavy drops of fat rain on their heads.

"Anyone can wear combat gear these days," Merle returned.

"It's not Delgado, is it?" Rick asked, raising his rifle to ready himself for a fight.

"No, this a little white boy," Merle said. "Delgado is a big mother fucker."

"Any of his people?" Rick went on.

"I don't know."

As the figure drew close enough that Rick was sure he saw them on the wall with him in their sights, the cheeky little asshole paraded right up to within ten feet of the wall, before eyeing them all quietly.

"Who are you?"

The soldier blinked at them, still holding his hands where they could see.

Rick raised his rifle higher. "Who are you?" He demanded.

Carefully turning around, the soldier flashed a large paper sign pinned to his pack like one would to a child, which read 'Delgado sent me'.

Cautiously, Rick adjusted his rifle as the soldier turned again and with his eyes locking on Rick, reached for a note from within his many pockets, held it up for them to see.

"How'd you find us?" Rick asked.

The soldier, turned around to blink at them, hands and letter still in the air.

"How'd you find us?"

With an almost long suffering look, the soldier pointed two fingers at his eyes.

"Are you alone?"

The soldier shook the letter in their direction.

"Are you with anyone, dumb ass?" Merle barked.

Squinting, the soldier shifted on his feet, still holding the letter out to them.

"Are you deaf, idiot? Where's the men you came with?" Merle shouted.

Sighing, the soldier balled up the letter and threw it at Rick, who caught it one handed, rifle still held up with the other.

He glanced over at Merle, telling him wordlessly to give him cover as he smoothed the wrinkled, water dampened note and opened it.

Glancing over the letter, Rick looked up at the soldier, quietly observing him.

"He is deaf, Merle," he said. "Apparently Delgado's people caught a prisoner, they want to know if he's one of ours, because he won't talk."

Merle pulled a face, before shrugging. "Doesn't mean he has to act like a retard."

Ignoring Merle's insensitive comment, Rick held up one finger and asked slowly. "Alone?" He pointed at the soldier and again held up one finger.

The young man nodded.

Shoving the letter at Merle, Rick shouldered his rifle and motioned the young soldier in the direction of the gate.

"What are doing?" Merle demanded.

"If we're going to be allies with this group, we may as well give their messenger a hot meal before sending him packing again. Keep your eyes out, just in case," Rick said.

On the wall, Merle sneered, but remained kneeling, keeping a watch for others.

At the gate Rick hopped down as Noah opened it for the soldier to come through, holding out his hand to the young man tentatively. The soldier was young, very young, fresh faced with big green eyes and a peppering of dark freckles scattered across his cheeks and over the bridge of his nose.

Motioning to his rifle, Rick said slowly, not sure if the man could read lips or not. "I want you to hand over your gun. Okay?"

The soldier frowned, unclear about what he was being asked.

"Noah, find me a pen and paper," Rick asked.

The young man nodded and took off for the nearest vehicle to go through the glovebox.

"Can you sign?" Rick asked the soldier, again going slowly, holding his hands up and making nonsensical signs.

He shook his head.

"Here," Sister Joan said, moving over with a small notebook and pen in hand. "I sometimes like to keep it on me for religious musings."

Rick thanked her and scribbled on the paper, asking the young man to hand over his gun to the gatekeeper, assuring him of his safety.

The soldier frowned delicately, but offered up his rifle, a handgun from his waist, another from his leg and a combat knife as well.

Scratching out 'hungry?', Rick handed the notebook over to the soldier, who nodded.

"Thank you," he muttered with difficulty, almost shyly looking over at Sister Joan who stood nearby, as though embarrassed by his condition.

Leading the man through a throng of curious onlookers, Rick motioned him towards the overhang of the church. The soldier removed his helmet and used it to perch on once they reached the safety of the overhang, brown hair falling over his eyes like a shaggy dog as he took in those who surrounded him cautiously.

"Can we get him something to eat?" Rick asked Carol who had come over to stand beside him with Grace not far behind.

"I'll see what I can find to warm up for him," Grace said, offering the young man a kind smile.

"Vancoughnett?" The soldier asked, once more in a slow, unsure tone.

Rick nodded, motioning towards the door to the church where the Lieutenant was just emerging behind them.

Sister Mary Elizabeth hurried over with a bottle of water for the soldier, offering it to him with a sweet smile.

He took it with a grateful nod and a mouthed 'thank you'.

"From the bell tower the area checks out," the Lieutenant said as he arrived. Rick could see the Cajun had only thrown on his camouflaged jacket over his bare torso, so he assumed he had been roused out of bed by the ordeal. "But I spied Daryl and Tyreese heading over the wall to check on things from the ground."

"He says he's from Delgado's group," Rick said.

Slowly easing into a kneeling position before the soldier, the Lieutenant beamed. "You must be Kowalski," he greeted the young man slowly.

The soldier nodded, it was a dip of his head.

Rick couldn't shake how young the boy looked, like he was just out of high school. It didn't help that the freckles reminded him of Carl and it crushed his ribs a little against his lungs and heart to think that Carl looked old enough or the soldier before him looked young enough, to be nearly identical.

The scruff the soldier had, was actually a comfort, it gave him a few more years over Carl, at least.

"He says they have a prisoner, wanted to know if he was one of ours," Rick went on explaining as a few nuns and Beth knelt down to offer the young soldier various things. He almost wanted to chase them off, but they seemed determined to coddle him from his 'harrowing' journey.

The Lieutenant shrugged. "I think all ours are accounted for."

Sasha, moving over with her rifle in hand, addressed them. "Tyreese headed over the wall with Daryl, says they're going to search the area, just in case."

Rick nodded.

"If they think we sent men after them?" Glenn broke in, moving up beside Rick. "Then why would they send just one man in?"

Studying the way the young man sat, looking about tensely, eyeing everyone around him, stone deaf apparently, in the middle of a camp of potential enemies. Rick frowned. "It was a suicide mission."

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* * *

**The Voodoo Dialect**

**Pie** – A grave soldier loa who dwells at the bottom of lakes and rivers, he's responsible for bringing the severe rain and floods.

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* * *

**vickih** - I'm voting for Merle killing Cash at this moment. ^_^

**itsi3** - Thank you.

**HaloHunter89** - Oh, well at least then you could have pretended to be crazy at a doctor's office...or suffering from laugh tourettes.

**Merle's Right Hand** - Seems like you like Cash...am I reading that wrong, babes?

**Girl in a White Dress** - Thanks. I was trying a different pov and was actually nervous about it, so thanks for the support of it.

**GG** - Yes, Nadir's mother is pretty isolated right now, isn't she? It's a shitty thing to be at the end of the world, but even worse if you don't speak the language, I'd imagine.

**Brazen Hussy** - Soon, my friend. Soooooon. ^_^


	31. Ogoun

**I apologize for another plotty sort of chapter, but...well it's kind of a necessity.**

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**Chapter Thirty-One: Ogoun**

****Kowalski****

A month before the world fell to shit was probably the most inopportune time for one to lose complete hearing in one ear and about seventy percent in their left, but then again, having an IED explode in your face and walking away from it could have been considered extremely good luck.

So, understandably, he was on the fence over whether he was grateful or pissed off at providence for that little amount of luck he had.

Hell, even when that dark haired man was on the wall shouting at him, he had only caught enough of the conversation to know the gist. Typical questions like 'who are you' and 'how many are you with' were expected, so he strained his left ear to hear enough, but he grew sick of focusing all his energy on that. Of course, he was just beginning to get how lip reading worked, but he wasn't at expert level just yet, so he missed a lot of it. Especially if he didn't know the topic.

Around him swarmed strange faces from the other group, women who brought him warm water and a rag to wipe the grime of the road off himself, ladies who offered him water and all kinds of things.

Without being able to hear what they were saying, only the low end bass gist of it all if he craned his head to the right and really concentrated with his left, but as he refused to do that and looked stupid, he felt a little over his head.

He was used to people literally talking over his head, it seemed being a deaf 'idiot' made people generally ignore his presence.

The lean man with the dark hair spoke, looking him straight in the face, and the man Delgado had explained to him was an old Marine buddy of his, the Cajun Vancoughnett and every now and then a woman with short, curly grey hair would kneel down and ask him something slowly, they all looked him directly in the eye, but the others seemed unable to figure out what to do with him.

Well, he wasn't sent to be their friend, he supposed. Initially Delgado sent him to just be sure the man they were set to execute wasn't one of his friend's people, the Corporal didn't honestly think he was, but he wanted to be certain. It was a precaution that he was sent, there was only one survivor from the massacre of the SUV that had boldly turned down their driveway and they didn't want to keep him around for much longer.

Kowalski had volunteered because, really? He wasted his days in a fucking tree avoiding the pity the others gave him and it was beginning to get tedious. Getting shot by a human being was actually beginning to seem like it wasn't such a bad idea.

He supposed it was isolation. He felt so fucking alone and cut off from the scattered remnants of humanity because of his condition.

Killing himself was a pansy-assed way out, but death on the battlefield (or more likely a shot in the back by some Southern man in the wild wastelands that had become Georgia) didn't seem all that bad.

Watching the silent fucking film that was unfolding around him, Kowalski scowled a little as some scruffy fellow came loping up with a crossbow in hand, a large, black man on his heel.

The scruffy man looked mildly irritated and gestured with his hand at Kowalski a few times, before he seemed to be appeased by the dark haired fellow and Vancoughnett.

It wasn't so much that asshole that interested him, but the grey haired woman with the fine boned features who looked him in the eye when she spoke to him, sidling up beside the scruffy guy that intrigued him. They seemed an unlikely couple, but the way the scruffy guy seemed to put himself between the woman and Kowalski was curious.

Someone touching his arm drew his attention away from the others and Kowalski looked to his right to find an old woman there, signing something to him with a kind look in her eye.

Kowalski shook his head. He was taught the alphabet in the few meagre weeks he had in recovery before the shit hit the fan, but that was pretty much it for him.

He had traipsed up and down the countryside for about three fucking days looking for where Vancoughnett's group was hiding themselves, checking every major building and landmark known, any place that would seem the likely hideout for a group to thrive and nothing proved worth his time. The prison just across the highway and down a road some ways in looked promising, but it was empty and locked up tighter than a drum.

It was only good fortune that he found this place, as he was eyeballing a map of the area and saw it only because he mistook it for the prison at first. This was his last stop on the tour and he was actually glad it was, it was getting cloudy and he didn't want to be stuck out in the rain.

Resting his elbows on his knees, he leaned over the hard concrete of the stoop he was on and eyed the raining skies quietly, wanting to be anywhere but sitting in the middle of pandemonium.

Shifting, he unloaded his burden from his shoulders and caught glimpse of the child-like note he had pinned to his back in case one of the men from this group caught sight of him in the wild and he didn't have time to explain before they shot. He tore it off stubbornly, glancing around to see who saw.

The old woman at him side smiled gently and held out her hand for the note he had balled up, so he handed it over, still keeping his eyes moving around. The scruffy guy seemed to be having an intense aside with three other men, it seemed they were the inner male council of the group, the one with the blade where his right hand should be, the dark haired man who let him in, and Vancoughnett. He wondered if these leaders were elected or just sort of fell into the role like Delgado, Kessler, and the Hollander's had done in their group.

The way the men congregated together though, gave Kowalski the idea that there was still a pecking order amongst them. It seemed they all looked to the dark haired one for the final say, though the way the blade handed fellow addressed and looked at him, he had the suspicion there was some tension there. But oddly enough, it seemed like the blade handed fellow still had a very small smidgeon of respect for the dark haired fellow.

He turned his eyes away from the men, looking about at the happenings and the rain. It wasn't until he took to counting the number of buildings, to studying the place, that he spied her, across the lawns from him, in the safe overhang of a building, peering out through the rain at him.

He wasn't expecting a Muslim to be hanging around a Catholic convent, but the white jilbāb she wore and the long, pretty teal abaya that was blowing with the breeze, catching around her legs, revealing she wore a pair of brown salwar kameez underneath, kind of gave her away.

Jesus, if he thought he was isolated, he could only imagine how it felt being the only Muslim at a convent.

He could have sworn that even across the distance, for a moment, he met her eyes and held them, before she shrunk back into the building, out of sight.

Kowalski stared at the still open doorway for the longest time, imaging he could see inside it, see the woman still there, just out of sight in the shadows.

His staring match with the dark doorway was interrupted by a bowl of warmed rice and meat being handed to him by a dark haired lady with a doll-like face and he nodded his thanks to her.

She offered him a bright, but somewhat shy smile and stepped back. He remembered her, came with Vancoughnett, seemed quite nervous to be at their farm at the time, didn't seem able to take in enough of her surroundings as she trailed behind Delgado's friend.

Cautiously, he sniffed the food, before trying it.

It was gamey, but not all that bad.

The dark haired lady was still standing there, smiling down at him almost eerily and Kowalski turned a little to avoid staring at her while he ate, beside him the old woman smiled and he tried the other side, finding yet another lady sitting there, rifle in her lap, smiling at him.

He remembered her as well, she came with the group when Vancoughnett paid the first visit. Her curly, black hair was pulled up high and she looked at him with cautious, but sharp eyes.

She met his eyes and offering him a shy smile, turned to give him some privacy, before pushing to her feet and wandering off.

Kowalski had to admit he appreciated it. As a man who spent about seven months stuck in a damned tree with only two pails, one for food and the other for…well what the food eventually became, he didn't really care much for being the centre of attention.

He ate quickly, shovelling the food in so that he could get the low down from this group and be on his way. His orders were to wait until he had something to go back to the farm with.

Alright, so he was mistaken, the gamey rice and meat dish was actually pretty fucking delicious. He wondered why those two fucking cowboys back home didn't go out and hunt up some game meat once in a while, there was only so much eggs and milk a man could stand.

Although this group didn't look like they had access to fresh eggs or milk, so he assumed to them that would be a numptious meal as well.

Eyeing Vancoughnett, the soldier he was told was technically a Lieutenant in rank, Kowalski scowled. The man was wearing only his camouflaged jacket and nothing else underneath but his tags and some bandages about his ribs, he wondered if he caught him at a bad time or if this was how the man conducted himself.

There was a young Asian man, one who had showed up with Vancoughnett, who was lingering near the group of – for lack of a better term – Alpha males and Kowalski wondered if he wanted in on the little four man tête-à-tête. There was a quiet hope in the poor man's eyes that actually made Kowalski sick.

_Jesus man_, he thought, _put down the purse and_ _just push your way into the huddle._

Finishing off his meal, he handed the empty bowl back to the dark haired lady with a nod of gratitude and finally decided to push to his feet, the rain was still dumping down, but he didn't care, he wanted to get back to the farm before the next morning.

Approaching the group of men, he stepped up boldly to the dark haired man and shoved his eyebrows up high on his forehead in inquiry.

The man said something to him again, his lips obviously going slowly with the wording.

Kowalski scowled.

His scowl must have sunk in, as the man quickly fumbled for the notebook.

The blade hand remarked something to the nearby scruffy man and the two scoffed, causing Kowalski to suspect it was something about him.

He felt his scowl deepen.

God, he disliked people as a teenager and this social apathy had only intensified after he returned from overseas and was basically relegated to living in a tree because of his inability to communicate properly with them.

The dark haired man pushed the notebook at him.

_We're sending a few of our people with you in the morning, just to make sure you get back safely and to explain things personally to Delgado._ It read. _We'll give you a bed to sleep in for the night if you want._

Kowalski didn't like the idea of travelling with people and he sure as hell didn't want to stay long, so he shook his head.

The man shook the notebook under his eyes.

Clearly it wasn't an option.

Without a word, he turned on his heel and marched off, knowing full well he was being trailed by someone. He didn't think he'd have free run of the place, but Delgado did want to make peace with them, so he figured he'd play nice for one night. At least until the rain stopped and he got dry.

A gentle hand on his arm had him stopping and he found the grey haired woman there, she said something slowly to him and he leaned in ever so to see in the rain what she was saying.

Thankfully, she repeated herself.

He caught the word 'dry' and nodded.

Whether she was offering him dry clothes or a dry place to rest for the night, he wanted it, any of it, all of it.

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The woman lead him in the direction of the building where the Muslim woman had been hiding, pushing inside and passing by a blond man who was tied to a cot, that blonde woman who Burke and Harkness had found in their little hole trap in the woods and a man who was sitting halfway down the open main room, reading from a bible, a pistol in his lap just under the holy book.

The Muslim woman hung close to the blond man and watched him with wide, curious eyes as he was shown to a bed. Her beautiful brown eyes met his as he passed, and for a moment both isolated outcasts communicated wordlessly, before she bowed her head.

Kowalski would have preferred a dry corner of someplace else to sleep if it meant having his privacy, but he was exhausted from his hunt for the group and too wet and uncomfortable to argue, so he removed his pack, tucked it under the cot and flopped onto the mattress, testing its comfort level.

It was better than a rock to the cock, he figured.

Leaning down to untie his boots, he paused and glanced over his shoulder.

Everyone in the infirmary was watching him eerily, so he hesitated, before reaching over and drawing the curtain across, blocking their view.

Laying back on the bed, boots still on, he waited for a moment, before reconsidering and sitting up again, he retrieved his pack from under the cot and pulled it to his chest protectively.

He didn't have a weapon on him and didn't want to be caught vulnerable.

Moving the bed into an upright position, he drew his knees to his chest and with his pack in his arms, settled in for a light nap like a bird perched on a branch.

One good thing about being deaf was that he could fall asleep in the middle of a fucking Aerosmith concert, so it didn't take him long to drift off.

In those few, rare moments before sleep, he thought of home and hated everything and everyone all over again.

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Kowalski woke only when the grey haired lady woke him, her arms full of dry clothes, her blue eyes bright and shining.

Behind her sunny self, however, stood the sullen, dark, scruffy backwoods type who eyed him like he was a threat, at his side an equally scruffy looking horse that lolled a huge tongue out of its muzzle like the red carpet rolling out for a king.

The woman pressed a hand to Kowalski's chest gently and said something to him slowly.

He squinted, but refused to lean in like a deaf old man.

She leaned down and repeated herself.

He made out the word 'bath' and shook his head. It was one thing to catch some Z's with them, but to strip down naked and hop in a tub of water, well he wasn't about to just bare himself like that.

Behind her, the scruffy man tensed and said something, causing the woman to turn to face him.

Kowalski missed whatever she said, but it seemed to piss the man off, as he wandered out of sight, beyond the curtain with that grey horse of his at his heels.

The woman turned back and said one word, touching a hand to her chest.

Well, she wasn't saying Garol (didn't think that was a word), so he assumed she was introducing herself as 'Carol'.

He touched a finger to the worn, nearly shredded nametag on his chest.

She said something back, but he missed it.

Then the woman boldly removed his helmet and set it on the table beside the bed, touching an almost motherly hand to his hair and stroking.

Kowalski wasn't sure whether he wanted to be appalled and lean away from her touch, or be warmed and lean in to it. She put out a sweet, matronly vibe that pulled at his heart and made him long for home and his own mother even more.

So, he did what he was used to doing, and pulled away from her touch.

Her big blue eyes turned sad and she said 'sorry' and something else, but he missed it.

He avoided her eyes until she pushed to her feet and left.

Eyeing the dry clothes she brought him, he pushed them onto the floor and curled up into a tight ball around his pack again, sulking until he fell asleep once more in his own damp gear.

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* * *

**The Voodoo Dialect**

**Ogoun** - Ogoun (or Ogun, Ogún, Ogou, Ogum, Oggun) was originally associated with fire, blacksmithing and metalworking. His focus has transformed over the years to include power, warriors, and politics. He particularly likes the machete, which is a common offering in preparation of a possession. Each of the many aspects of Ogoun have their own personalities and talents. One is associated with healing and is seen as a combat medic, another is a thinker, strategist and diplomat, and many are machete-swinging warriors.

**Interesting sidenote**, the tattoo the Lieutenant has on his abdomen is the veve (symbol) for the loa Ogoun.

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* * *

**missdaryldixon** - I'm hoping Milton will play a bigger part in this soon. He's actual a very vital character to me and more importantly to the group.

**Merle's Right Hand** - I understand completely. Cash has a few good qualities. I mean, no one is ever really a monster. Of course, Cash does make it hard to like him at times. He has a big mouth and likes to pick fights.

**itsi3** - Then you'll really love this chapter then. I hope you did anyways.

**HaloHunter89** - Yes. And also I feel bad for him too.

**shelly2** - Wait no longer...well enjoy it while it lasts anyways. ^_^

**Guest** - Rick kind of makes me all melty in general.

**GG** - You would think, huh? Some people have no faith.

**LaurenEmilyxx** - I agree.


	32. Anaisa Pye

**Get used to all these updates, kids, because I'm off again in a few days for a few weeks. So...allow me to spoil you while I can.**

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**Chapter Thirty-Two: Anaisa Pye**

****Carol****

"Delgado doesn't honestly think it was us," the Lieutenant argued. "If he did, he would have sent in a strike team, not one deaf soldier boy, not his best shot."

"So why'd he send him at all, then?" Grace asked, wrapping one of Lafayette's button ups around her protectively. "And who would be so silly as to step into their territory like that?"

Carol watched the others exchange looks, before Rick spoke.

"Maybe he just wants to be sure it's not one of ours, a friendly fire incident or something."

"What's going to happen to the man they caught?" Grace demanded.

Everyone avoid her eyes.

"They're going to kill him, aren't they?" The former nun asked after a moment, looking to the Lieutenant.

Her soldier, quirked a brow, but artfully changed the subject, ignoring Grace in favour of saving them all time and trouble.

"How'd he settle in?" He asked Carol.

She shifted uncomfortably, catching a glimpse of Grace's face and knowing full well the Lieutenant was in for a hell of a time when the group broke up.

"He's already fast asleep," she said. The poor boy pulled at her heartstrings, he looked like he was just a baby still and the dark shadows under his eyes haunted her, the way his brows seemed constantly worried. Her mother instincts had kicked in when she first caught sight of him, she wanted to hug him and tell him everything would be alright, he awakened that urge in her. "I don't think he's slept in days, weeks maybe."

"Why would this friend of yours," Grace began snappishly, addressing the Cajun with an arch look, "send a boy out into the world with little sleep and unable to hear anything creeping up on him?"

The Lieutenant chuckled. "He's a Marine, girl," he said. "That boy is better trained than most, he did just fine, made it here in one piece, didn't he? Delgado's job as the leader of their group isn't to coddle him, but to utilize him to the best of his abilities. He sent Kowalski, because short of coming here himself, he knew the soldier would find us in due time."

"Good Lord, Lieutenant," Grace gasped, touching a hand to the base of her throat. "That boy isn't a weapon or a tool, he's a living human being."

"He's a soldier, my girl," the Lieutenant argued.

Merle stepped in, not trying to break up the fight, but thankfully doing so.

"So, who do you want heading out with him?" He addressed Rick.

"Who do you want?" Rick returned.

"I want to go," Carol offered. She wouldn't feel right until she was sure that boy got home safely.

"I'll go," Daryl argued.

"You're still recuperating," Rick stated. "Let Carol go. Lieutenant? I think you should lead them, since Delgado knows you."

"_He's_ still recuperating," Grace pointed out.

Rick angled his head. "That's too bad, we need him to deal with Delgado."

"Then I'm going too," Grace stated.

"No, she needs to stay here with Annie," the Lieutenant said swiftly. "I'll take Michonne and Glenn with me."

The look the nun gave him froze everyone except the Cajun, who had yet to notice he was suddenly in the crosshairs of a very pissed off looking woman.

Carol exchanged a look with Daryl, who winced sympathetically for his friend, but remained, wisely, out of the entire exchange.

Rick cleared his throat and forced the rest of them to continue with their discussion, even though his face looked like he was extremely worried for the soldier. "Okay, four people, with their man, good enough. You can head out in the morning."

"I'd wait until the afternoon," the Lieutenant said. "That cattle trail is going to get mucky in this rain, may as well wait for it to dry before trying to drive down it."

"Good enough, until then keep an eye on him, but make him feel welcome." Rick said. "I guess if we're trying to make friends, we should treat him like a guest and not like a criminal. Carol? Would you take him some dry clothes, see if he wants anything else?"

She nodded. Rick knew full well she had plans to do so anyways, she could tell by the way he said it so off-handedly, like he was almost inquiring if she was, instead of ordering her to do it.

On her way past the Lieutenant, she gave his upper arm a quick rub, knowing he was in for a hell of a time and wanting to give him some support.

He was already locked in a silent staring contest with Grace, who looked like she was about to raise hell.

Hearing footsteps close behind her as she made her way through the rain for the dorms, hoping to dig through their spare clothes for something for the young soldier, Carol knew Daryl was trailing behind her and slowed for him to catch up.

"That poor boy is so young," she remarked to him. "Makes me want to hug him."

Daryl scoffed. "He's a soldier, so he's at least eighteen, nineteen probably given the amount of time for training and the amount of time we've been here."

"He's still just a boy," she returned.

"Yeah, well, don't try to hug him, he'd probably stab you or something. Looks feral to me."

Carol couldn't help but smile widely at him. "Have you looked in a mirror lately, kettle?" She pushed open the door into the dorms and led the way towards the bathroom where they kept the box of odds and end clothes. "It must be hard," she went on, "for him. Being deaf and not knowing sign language. He'd have no way to communicate with anyone."

"If he wanted to communicate he'd find a way," Daryl argued.

Pulling out a shirt, she turned to hold it up against Daryl for a rough measurement, nearly tripping over Clyde. The dog was a near permanent fixture at Daryl's side and she often forgot he was there even though he took up as much room as he did.

"This should fit him."

"Yeah, it's real nice." Daryl grumbled, eyeing the Hawaiian print shirt.

"It's something dry at least. Maybe I should give him a sweater though, he's probably chilled from the rain." She went back to digging through the box, while Daryl slung his crossbow over his shoulder and pocketed his hand.

"Hey?" He asked quietly after a moment. "You want to get hitched?"

She paused in digging, slowly hanging a sweater over the edge of the box. "Are you asking or are you _asking_?"

"I mean, is it something important to you?"

"These days? Not high on my list of priorities," she replied, turning to look him in the eye. He was artfully avoiding hers by allowing his shaggy hair to fall over his eyes.

Reaching out she took his hand, removing it from his pocket and pulling him to her.

"I'm not going anywhere," she clarified. "If you think you need to lay claim."

He scoffed. "It's not that. I just thought…don't women like that sort of thing?"

She laughed and brushed his hair back. It felt like his hair grew faster than anyone's she had ever known, she had just cut it a month ago. "Some of us."

"So?"

"I tell you what," she said. "If you want people to know I'm taken, you get me a ring and I'll wear it, but I don't need the ceremony to tell me I'm yours or you're mine."

"A ring, huh?" He demanded. "That all?"

"That's all."

To her surprise he beamed widely at her, leaning in and pressing a hard kiss to her cheek, engulfing her in his arms. She laughed at the unexpected surge of energy from him and returned the kiss to his cheek.

Suddenly feeling herself being lifted, she protested wildly. "Daryl, your wound!"

"Don't care," he murmured against her neck, his scruff scratching her lightly there.

Held up above him slightly, she ran her hand through his hair idly. "You know," she began quietly, "I should start calling you something more endearing."

He pulled back enough to look up at her, blue eyes dark. "Like what?"

"I don't know. I sometimes hear the Lieutenant calling Annie 'boo' and—"

"No, that's not going to stick."

Carol laughed. "Well, it's either that or stud muffin."

Daryl squinted up at her, before sliding her back down to the floor. "You know what, forget about the rings…" he muttered darkly, teasing her.

She laughed and pulled a fake pout.

"Pick out some damned clothes," he continued gruffly.

As she turned back to do so, his hand landed on her shoulder and she reached up to grab it, smiling as he leaned down and kissed her hair.

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****Grace****

"You're mad," the Lieutenant pointed out as she stormed off, heading for the dorms.

They had a long stare down on the church steps that lasted long enough for everyone to depart the immediate area, before Grace decided it wasn't worth degrading herself further by fighting with him and turned to march off and check on Annie who was being watched by Herschel and Beth.

"Hey, girl, what's wrong?" He went on, trying to get her to stop or at least slow down long enough for them to talk.

She spun on him in the rain. "Nothing."

He blinked and stepped back, shifting on his feet. "Okay, I know women enough to know that means 'something'."

Grace spun on her heel and continued on. She didn't care much for the way he treated her like a child in front of people. There had been a time when she was very much in charge of her own damned convent and suddenly she wasn't important enough to receive answers to inquiries or to go meet with groups they were allying with. It was just, embarrassing to be treated like that.

"You mad because you're not coming with me?" He asked.

She turned on him with hellfire in her eyes and he immediately clamped his mouth shut.

"Not that, huh?" He whispered. "Okay…"

Taking a step forward, she poked him hard in the chest with her finger. "If you had any common sense, Lafayette Vancoughnett, you'd back the hell up and give me some damned space!"

Nearby Milton, who had been hanging around the protection of the dormitory overhang with Karen, looked wildly around, trying hard to appear disconnected from the scene before them.

Karen beat ass one way and Milton the other, clearing out of range for them. A few seconds later, Milton limped back, crossing their path to head in the direction Karen had gone, eyes downcast, face grim.

Poking his chest again, harder, Grace snarled. "I can't believe how you treat me! In front of everyone! Like I was some damned child!"

The Cajun took a step back, still remaining quiet.

"Do you think that by ignoring my questions, by all but patting my head and sending me off to bed, you can just get away with treating me like some kind of simple minded," she broke off with a growl. "I'm not important enough to go with you, I don't need to know what's going to happen with the man this so-called 'friend' of yours has. A captured human being?"

"That man they captured will be executed, because the Geneva Convention doesn't exist anymore and it's the safest thing to do," the Lieutenant said. "Does that make you feel better?"

"Of course not!" She snarled. "But dammit, was that so hard to tell me?! I used to have some say in things, I used to have your respect—"

"Magpie—"

She poked him hard again. "Don't you dare 'magpie' me after treating me like that, you gigantic Cajun redwood! Don't you dare try to sweet talk me after making me feel two inches tall! How dare you? Where do you get off thinking you can just ignore my questions, shove me aside like I'm not even worth the explanation!"

Folding his arms, the Cajun tilted back on one leg, letting her get it all out, but protecting his chest from her assaulting finger.

"Are you done?" He asked after a moment in a tone she was sure he only used on recruits in basic.

She swallowed thickly. "For now."

"Good, because now it's my turn, and, girl, you'd better listen."

"Girl?" She snapped.

He made a zip it motion with his hand, using his towering height to lean forward and intimidate her into silence, she resented this, but said nothing.

"One, that poking actually hurt, goddamn your bony little finger, and two, when we council up like that, you're not my woman, you're just like any of the others, I treat you the same as I'd treat them and three," his hard expression softened. "you're not coming with me because bride's aren't supposed to hold guns before their wedding."

She crossed her arms doubtfully and fought not to roll her eyes. Of course she was just like another soldier, commanding officer's really worried about honouring their grunts marriage traditions. "Oh really?"

"Yeah, it's a funny little Cajun tradition," he went on, blue-grey eyes dancing around, avoiding hers.

"Of course it is."

He offered her a tiny grin. "But, ah, when I get back…the tradition goes that you have to still love me and give me a big kiss and tell me you missed me."

Grace tilted her chin. "So, I have to lie a little bit?"

"You're a very mean little viper, aren't you?" He rubbed idly at his chest. "Jesus, you poked me hard, woman. Think it's only fair I give you a few pokes in return."

Despite lingering rage at him, the look on his face when he realized what he said, brought a small smile to her lips, so she bit down on her bottom one to keep from grinning. "I bet you'd like that, Cajun boy."

"I'm not saying I wouldn't," he returned, looking her up and down like a predator, before leaning in. "By the way, _beb_, I don't know what sort of incentive you were planning for me when you told me to close my eyes before the interruption, but the rain made your tank a little…" he leaned in and whispered, "you're not wearing a bra, my girl."

Grace flushed and wrapped the button up she wore over her tank around herself. When they were interrupted she had thrown on the first things she could grab and the button up just happened to have been the one she had just helped the Cajun out of prior to the whole ordeal. Bravely, she managed to say, "I know."

With the smile on his face falling, the Lieutenant took a step back and eyed her.

"Better get back to bed, hm?" She suggested.

Opening the door into the dorms for her, the Cajun blocked the way with his arm, stooping over to peer at her quietly.

When Grace finally managed to drag her eyes up to meet his, she found a fire smouldering behind his eyes that darkened them to the colour of an overcast sky.

The corners of his mouth quirked up just a little and he nodded. "Alright, girl. You're the boss," before she could say 'don't you forget it', the crafty Cajun added, "for now."

"Get to bed, honey."

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**The Voodoo Dialect**

**Anaisa Pye** - Anaisa Pye (alternatively, Anaisa Pie, Anaisa Pie Danto, or Anaisa La Chiquita) is considered the patron saint of love, money, and general happiness. She is often considered extremely flirtatious, generous, and playful by her devotees. She is also very jealous of the worship of other female loas, as she considers herself able to provide for anything a person could request. In Roman Catholicism, she is syncretized with Saint Anne and her altars are often decorated with pictures and statues of Saint Anne and the child Mary. She is said to work very well with Belie Belcan, another popular loa who is associated with Saint Michael the Archangel. Therefore, one will always find icons of Saint Anne next to icons of Saint Michael in Voodoo households and temples.

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* * *

**missdaryldixon** - You'll get more Cash in a few more chapters, he sort of comes into play more.

**vickih** - I worked with severely disabled youth as well and a lot of them have problems expressing themselves, which sort of threw them into rages and gave them a sort of sullen outlook on people outside their circle of support.

**GG** - Hopefully more on Kowalski in the next few chapters.

**Merle's Right Hand** - Yes, the chapter after this is another from Kol's pov (I like that abbreviated term for him). So I hope you have that to look forward to.

**itsi3** - I really appreciate when reviewers let me know how much they enjoy a character, it does have quite a bit of influence in the futures I may choose for them, so it's good to know who's loved. I try hard not to make things too sad for the reader (though in a post-ZA world that is hard).


	33. Pie II

**Chapter Thirty-Three: Pie II**

****Kowalski****

The explosion sent him rocketing out of the bed, slamming hard against the wall nearby and tripping over his pack, scattering a mass of things across the infirmary floor. Collapsing hard, gripping the windowsill to keep himself upright, he quickly spun on the room and found the curtain being drawn back and the man from chair standing there.

He said something to Kowalski, which –oddly enough – literally fell on deaf ears.

Breathing heavily, the young soldier, blinked away ghost remnants of desert sand from his eyes and calmed himself enough to stoop down and collect his belongings, stuffing them back into his pack, embarrassed by his nightmare.

_This_, he reminded himself, _is why you don't sleep, asshole._

Shouldering his pack, he decided he had enough rest and wanted to poke around Vancoughnett's place, see what he could make of it, find some tactical dirt for Delgado.

Turning, pulling his helmet low over his eyes, he found the man still there. Again he said something to him, his mouth moving slowly.

Not wanting to be talked down to or patronized by someone, he pushed past the man, heading for the doorway.

A strong hand fell down and pressed against his chest and Kowalski stopped short, looking down at it, then over at the man.

He said something to him.

Looking down at the hand again, Kowalski scowled, realizing the situation.

Yeah, he was really going to go out there and cause some shit. Like he didn't have more pressing matters on his hand, he was going to parade out into the wild beyond the infirmary and punch the mama bear while trapped in a cave with her family.

Brushing the man's hand off his person firstly, Kowalski turned on him made a couple of nonsensical signs with his hand, before shifting his hand quickly one way, drawing the man's attention in that direction long enough for him to slip past in the opposite direction.

He made it to the door, before the man caught up with him, but he only stayed on his ass, not trying to stop him again.

Outside the rain had finally stopped and the world was shimmering with damp. In the west the sun was about two hours from setting and the sky was clear, showing promise for a dry night.

Kowalski took in the convent grounds now that things had seemingly returned to normal.

A handful of people walking the wall, one at the gate, on the lawn, under a peach tree, a little girl was running around and around with a small Bassett Hound on her heels, being watched over by a young blonde girl, the old woman from the church stoop and an old man who looked like Santa Claus.

The little girl spied Kowalski emerging from the infirmary and with wide, excited eyes, dashed towards him, slipping out of the grip of the blonde girl who made to stop her.

Sliding to a stop on the wet grass, the little thing looked up at him, her mouth moving at a speed that not even an expert lip reader could keep up with, her little hands gripping the skirt of her plain black dress and holding it out, she swayed idly.

Pushing his helmet back further on his forehead, Kowalski looked down at her as she went on, the blonde woman moving to stand close behind her protectively, the old man moving to stand behind the blonde with the same cautious eyes.

Kneeling in the grass, brought Kowalski a little closer to the girl as she went on talking, stooping down and plucking a dandelion to hold out to him with a bright grin.

Charmed by the cute thing, he angled his head, before accepting the gift.

Okay, so he didn't mind kids. They weren't huge pains in the ass for him, he didn't have to raise them or wipe their noses. Besides, this one reminded him of his baby sister when she was that age, hopelessly adorable, but with the devil in her eyes. His mother had her late in life, so he had been quite a bit older than her, in grade twelve when she was about six. He had never really been one of those older brothers who hated their baby sister, Claire was always his favourite person, she told good jokes and used to make origami out of any piece of paper she could find.

Moving the dandelion to his mouth, he pretended to eat it, palming it in reality and 'pulling' out from the little girl's ear.

Her eyes lit up and she clapped her hands, her mouth moving at the speed of light now. Yeah, his sister loved that trick too.

Tapping the girl on the nose with the dandelion, he pushed to his feet and found the old man saying something to him.

Pulling his helmet back down, Kowalski moved off again, tucking the dandelion into the band of his helmet beside his NVG mount and ignoring the old man. He would have thought these people would have gotten the hint that he couldn't fucking hear a thing they said by now.

By the time he reached the first building he was intent on exploring, he found that not only had that old man taken over the watch from the man from the infirmary, but the little girl, the blonde and the old woman had trailed behind him.

Plus a woman passing on the wall nearest them had taken an interest in his movements.

He was almost tempted to go back to the infirmary to hide out of sight again, but pressed on.

The first building he came to was a one story thing, old stone masonry work on the outside, and rich wood panelling on the inside.

Opening the door, he found himself facing down a long corridor lined with doors and stepped inside.

The old man placed a hand on his shoulder and said something to him.

Kowalski eyed the hand and brushed it away like one would chase off a fly. He didn't give a rat's ass what the man was saying, he was on a scouting mission now.

Wandering slowly down the hall, he eyed little pieces of statuary on pedestals as he passed, pausing at one bust in particular to pick it up. It was of a woman, but her eyes were gouged out.

Jesus, that wasn't full on fucking creepy at all.

Turning the piece over, he read the inscription in the base. Apparently it was a replica of the Holy Mary of Urakami, a reminder of the grim toll of the bombings in Nagasaki, Japan.

Pulling a face at the horrible thing, Kowalski glanced over to find the old man now standing there alone, watching him. He blinked at him, putting the bust back, turning her so that no one had to look at the freaky thing, feeling like he was doing the world a huge fucking favour.

Subtlety he used his boot to scoot a nearby fern closer to the thing, hoping to mask most of it from sight. No one should have to deal with that, icon or not. He'd rather have a mounted infected head chomping at him from the wall then that dead eyed thing staring out at him.

Wandering the corridor like a hitchhiker backpacking across Europe, Kowalski studied the paintings and icons, but mostly he was taking a head count of people he spied in open doors, people, he noted, who came to stand at the doorway as he passed, curious about him.

Glancing behind him, he realized he was getting a little sick of Santa following him around like he was a kid playing pocket the prize in a corner grocery store, so he decided to lose him.

It wasn't really hard, the man had one good leg and a crutch and looked like he wasn't up for a foot race, so all Kowalski had to do was make a short, quick burst for an open space to the right, halfway down the hall.

Inside the open space were two doors, he took the one to his left, beyond a long dining table and rushed into a kitchen just as someone was coming in from the backdoor.

A larger, older woman women dropped a jug of water to the ground in shock at his quick entrance and leapt back defensively.

Kowalski eyed the mess she made, before shrugging, he was trying to lose the old man and didn't have time to care much for her mess, brushing past her, out the door and into the sunshine of the early evening.

Behind the building he emerged from, he found himself with an open patch of grass and a water pump from a well to his right and what looked like an abandoned flower garden to his left. He took to the garden, it gave him more cover, and keeping low, hurried to dive onto a stone bench, situated between a hydrangea and a lilac bush.

He decided he didn't really want to stir too much shit, so he opted to just taunt the old man a little, waiting for him to emerge and offering him a rigid salute as Santa finally poked his head out of the backdoor.

The old man hobbled towards him, easing onto the bench at his side and sitting there with his mouth shut.

Kowalski sat there for a moment, enjoying the peace of the backyard flower garden, ignoring the fact that the bench was still damp and was soaking his ass. He liked the idea of the walls, it gave this place a paradise feel compared to the worry of the farm.

Safe. It felt safe for once.

He sat there on the bench until the sun died in the west and darkness fell over them.

What he missed, what he remembered most from before the war, was the sound of crickets at night.

Kowalski wondered if they were chirping, he wondered if the breeze was rustling the leaves in the trees, if somewhere in the distance a whippoorwill was crying out for love.

Hank Williams had never seemed so prophetic than he was at that moment.

Recalling sitting on the hood of his daddy's '54 Pontiac as he fixed her up, Kowalski yearned for his childhood again, when people walked by on the street outside his father's garage where the old man fixed up classic cars. In those days they were people who weren't on the hunt for flesh, people who stopped and waved and smiled.

Mouthing the words to the song to himself, Kowalski rubbed his hand against the large scar that lay just under his shirt and Kevlar vest, the one that festered and didn't seem like it would ever heal.

_The moon just went, behind the clouds, to hide its face and cry._ He mouthed.

In his mind's eye his daddy scooped him up off the car and deposited him on the ground as the ice cream man went by, ringing his little bell.

Remembering the old man at his side, Kowalski glanced over and found him patiently sitting there, watching the stars overhead.

Tugging his pack off, he dug through it quietly, still enjoying the night around him with the sound on permanent mute. Reaching the bottom of his pack, he withdrew the heavy, rusted old hood ornament of a '54 Pontiac that he had taken from a junkyard during the 'violent' year of infected and running and handed the plane-like ornament over to the old man quietly.

He took it in shock, as Kowalski closed his pack again and pushed to his feet.

Maybe if he left enough reminders of the old world behind him like a trail of breadcrumbs he could go back in time and reclaim some of America again.

He decided he'd climb into the bell tower of the church. The world looked better from up high, less like reality.

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Inside the bell tower, he found a wide assortment of ammunition, a couple of high powered rifles, one .50 calibre rifle and a bunch of military junk, all piled neatly in wait.

Settling down on the floor, knowing full well that old man had passed the buck to someone who could climb the ladder in order to watch him, Kowalski rest his hands on the ledge of the short brick gunwale that pushed up from the floor and peered down at the grounds below quietly, resting his chin over top quietly.

This was what he wanted, a bird's eye view to separate himself from the others, to overlook the area.

A form settled on the floor behind him and he yawned, glancing over his shoulder to find that blade handed fellow there, watching him with narrowed eyes.

Sensing no threat from him, Kowalski turned back to watching the grounds. He'd sit there in that position until sunrise, it was comforting to him.

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When morning finally came around, when that Vancoughnett fellow finally poked his head up into the bell tower and emerged from the ladder dressed in his complete collection of gear from head to toe, looking very much like the officer Delgado said he was, Kowalski was so moved that he reflexively saluted him.

The man moved slowly, like he was in pain, but covered this with a broad grin, nodding in greeting to him with a tilt of his head and saluting him languidly.

Kowalski eyed the worn uniform the man wore, it looked like it had been through hell and back. The rifle he had slung over his shoulder had definitely seen action, the tightly laced boots well-travelled and the helmet hooked onto the pack at his back was covered in dirt and mud and stripped of most of the added extras the corps thought the modern soldier needed.

Coming to stand beside him at the barrier between the bell tower and the massive plummet to the ground below, Vancoughnett eyed the waking world around them with eyes the colour of a stormy sea being tossed against a rocky shoal and Kowalski suddenly was struck with admiration for the tall soldier.

Gone was the dope who stood around with no shirt on from the day prior and in his place stood a commanding officer. A true Marine. A man any common gunny would follow to hell and back if only he commanded them to.

Kowalski wondered how often the man showed this side of himself since the world went to hell. All he had seen the day before was an easy-going radio tower of a man who looked battered and bruised from some kind of ordeal he'd gone through before his people met with Kowalski's.

For a moment the congenial blue-grey of the man's eyes turned electric, the blue fading, the grey popping and the soldier at his side shifted on his feet, his sharp jawline dropping for a moment, before levelling at the horizon.

This man deserved every pip a Lieutenant's rank afforded him and Kowalski regretted that he ever doubted that.

Turning, Vancoughnett eyed him with a gentle look, before he reached out and gave Kowalski's helmet a friendly tap, something he found Marine's had a habit of doing in effort to show brotherly affection, something Kowalski actually missed about his time spent serving.

Hitching his thumb in the direction of the ladder, Vancoughnett silently inquired if Kowalski was ready to head out and he nodded, following the man to the ladder, passing the blade handed man who had found himself busy trying to tie his bootlaces one handed. Whatever Lieutenant Vancoughnett said to the man was answered with a careless wave of the man's blade in the direction of the ladder and a snapping remark that soured the man's face.

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**missdaryldixon** - I don't think the Lt. gets in enough trouble from Grace. He gets away with too much. ^_^

**Claire Randall Fraser** - Daryl would ambush a lady with something like that.

**vickih** - And neither of them really planned it. ^_^

**Merle's Right Hand** - Not going to lie, but I imagine a pissed off nun would make anyone panic enough to scatter like buckshot.

**itsi3** - He does kind of let a lot of things slide. Unless someone's threatening his nuns, then he gets all grumpy mother bear with them.

**Brazen Hussy** - Sorry no Merle yet...hopefully when I return. After all, he needs to hook up with his nun, right? Show some tenderness, maybe get a nice reward for his efforts?

**DarylDixon'sLover** - Thanks!


	34. Azacca II

**Alright, kids, this will have to tide you over until mom gets back from the Congo. I'm hunting mysterious catfish big enough to eat people. I'm gonna eat so much blackened catfish...chomp.**

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**Chapter Thirty-Four: Azacca II**

****Carol****

It was just as the sun was peeking over the eastern sky, casting beams of golden and pink light through the trees of the forest, when she got up and began packing for the trip.

Daryl, still resting in bed, awake, but idly sharpening his combat knife over the edge, eyed her quietly, Clyde resting his huge head on his stomach.

"You'll be back before nightfall?" He asked.

"I hope," she said, stuffing a box of old crackers into her pack and shifting her shoulders to readjust her breasts, they had been aching for the past week at odd intervals, but she knew it only meant one hell of a period was about to come up. They only ever ached when she got a bad one.

"Here, give me that damned old knife of yours," he said, motioning her over to the bed as she picked up her worn knife, the one that used to be his.

Exchanging her hunting knife for Salt, Daryl nodded. "You can borrow mine til you get back."

Tossing the knife and it's sheath at her pack, Carol propped herself up over him and leaned down to kiss him, pushing his scraggly hair off his forehead, out of his eyes.

"Thank you."

His hand wrapped around her waist, not quite on her ass, but not anywhere near her hip either. It was sort of in that no man's land between ass and hip.

To her surprise he remedied that right away, dropping his palm down over the curve of her ass and squeezing.

Daryl was slowly getting better at the intimacy thing, only lately he was like a teenage boy just discovering sex and realizing his girlfriend was ready, willing and able.

She pulled away enough to look at him with wide eyes, before laughing.

Here was a man who sort of scared her the first time she laid eyes on him, who had a sort of crass, rough mannered, truckstop terror type who'd start fights in roadhouses just to get his testosterone out.

Daryl was anything but that man on the inside where it counted. She would never admit it to anyone, but he had more old school chivalry than any man she had ever met, including Rick and Glenn. The Lieutenant had some form of chivalry, but it was more Southern Gentleman than knight-in-shining armour.

Still, she had to admit, some days when Daryl was working hard and all sweaty and scratched up, she fantasized about just being taken by him, wherever they happened to be, in any manner he happened to see fit. Then again, lately her hormones were working overtime when it came to him and his cute little ass and the way he swaggered about.

"I have to go," she said, resting her hands against the pillow on either side of his head to push up.

"You've got time," he replied, the other hand moving to cup her other cheek. Dragging her on top of him, pelvis to pelvis, Daryl cleared his throat. "We could make it fast enough, no one would miss you." He said roughly.

Carol was just doing the math to figure out if they did have enough time, when someone knocked on the door to their shack.

"_Mais, allons_! Whatever you're doing in there, it's most likely a sin!" The Cajun shouted through the door.

Pushing out of Daryl's arms reluctantly, Carol sighed and headed for her pack, strapping the sheath onto her belt and moving for the door with Daryl leading the way.

The Cajun nearly fell inside the shack as Daryl yanked the door open and Clyde leapt out.

"Jesus," the Lieutenant said, looking them both up and down, giving Clyde a pat on the top of his head. "Was I right about the sinning?"

"I don't know. What'd you do with your woman this morning?" Daryl shot back as they all made their way towards the SUV they were planning on taking.

"We have a saying down on the bayou, _Texian_. _Ne jamais renoncer à l'âne, ou elle va revenir à vous mordre à l'arrière_."

"How's that translate?" Carol asked.

"Very well," the Lieutenant shot back, taking her pack and tossing it into the back of the SUV for her.

Glancing beside her, Carol laughed as Daryl shook his head at the soldier.

"Basically, in plain old _Texian_ English, it means 'never give up the ass or it will return to bite you in the rear'." The Lieutenant finished, closing the back hatch of the SUV.

"You ever notice how this asshole weasels out of answering questions almost all the damned time?" Daryl asked her loud enough to be heard by the soldier.

The Lieutenant beamed broadly, but said nothing.

Carol, watching as the young Kowalski, Michonne and Glenn all neared the vehicle, turned to her scruffy man and offered Daryl a small grin. "I'll be back soon." She assured him.

He shifted on his feet, still not liking the idea of her going without him, but nodded. Not since the last journey she had resulted in her being chased up a ladder onto a roof in a nun's habit by a crapload of walkers. "Yeah." He grunted.

"Take care of Clyde, don't kick him out of bed," she said. "Despite what he does to you, the poor thing loves you."

In the manner she had come to find typical of Daryl, he didn't give her any grand farewell, just nodded and wandered off, most likely to skulk on the wall.

"Don't worry about him," Merle said from beside her where he had arrived almost silently. "He'll be pissy for a while, but he'll have gotten over it by the time you come back."

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****Merle****

When his little sis turned to him, he offered her a wide grin.

"Take care of yourself too, Merle," she said. "I don't want to come back to a gong show."

He scoffed.

The little thing his baby brother had been shacking up with hesitated only briefly, before wrapping her arms around him for a hug.

It threw him off his game of taunting her and he leaned in to allow it for a second, his remaining hand moving to pat her back.

"Alright, don't get disgusting now," he growled, pushing her away. "Jesus knows you love me."

Carol grinned widely at him. "Bye, Merle."

Slipping a pistol into her hand, Merle leaned in. "Anyone gives you any shit, don't hesitate, sister." His brother's woman gave him an odd look, enough of an odd look to merit Merle offering her up a scowl. "Don't give me that look, just take the fucking thing."

At her small grin, he sighed, remembering Mary Agnes and her 'tenderness' and decided to test it out on a familiar woman first.

"Um," he cleared his throat. "Ah, you look…I hope you feel, like, healthy and stuff."

Was that tender? Did it involve more of that hugging shit?

Looking Carol up and down, Merle scowled. Maybe he wouldn't.

At his side that fucking Cajun chuckled, bowing his head to hide it.

"Fuck off, coonass."

"I'm going to let that one slide, because you look like a _bioque_ right now." The Lieutenant said, grunting as Annie flew at his legs, her dog yapping at her heels. "Alright, wild thing, ease up on me, _boo_."

Scowling, Merle stormed off, passing the dumb assed soldier's nun on his way towards the dorms.

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****Grace****

Watching Merle storm off, Grace pulled her over shirt around her body tighter and approached the Lieutenant quietly. She still found it a little hard to look him in the eye, not after the day and night they spent in the cocoon of her bed, not after the incentive she had offered him.

Still, she noticed since their 'rest' period, the Lieutenant was more docile around her, at the moment he was bending down, sort of arching his tall frame over her protectively, hands coming up to rest over her upper arms.

Between them, Annie squirmed and reached up to press her hand against Grace's stomach, missing the mark and touching her a bit lower, nowhere really vulgar but eerily close to her mark considering the topic she was about to raise. "Are you pregnant yet, mommy?" She asked.

Grace felt her face grow hot and ducked her gaze to avoid Lafayette's. They may have taken a firm step towards familiarity in the bedroom, but they most certainly did nothing that would result in that. She wouldn't allow those sorts of shenanigans to occur under her thumb at the convent.

"Annie Louise," the Lieutenant said firmly. "Why don't you run back inside, I left my gloves on the table beside the bed, could you get them for me, _boo_?"

The little girl looked up at him with her haunting hazel eyes. "Was it something I said?"

Laughing, the Cajun stepped back from his protective stance over Grace and knelt to peer at the girl. "Not at all, my girl. Give me a hug."

The little one wrapped her arms around his neck tightly, kissing him on the cheek without prompting and whispering something in his ear.

Grace could only imagine the wicked things the girl was telling him.

Pulling back, Annie hopped and skipped off, Boo the dog at her heels as always.

"What'd she say?" Grace asked, moving to stand beside her Cajun as they watched Annie get into the dorms safely.

"She said if I do ever put a baby in you, she wants to name it Elmo."

"That is not happening. Ever."

The Lieutenant scratched at his eyebrow with his thumb. "Yeah, but, there was a Saint Elmo, wasn't there?"

"Erasmus," she corrected. "And I don't care."

"Come on, _Philomena_, be a sport." He taunted, curling over her again, bringing them into their own little space in their own little world.

She allowed his hands to spread over her ribs, his thumbs to boldly push against the soft flesh of her breasts through the bra she wore. But only because his eyes captured her and put her into a sort of trance, because his wicked mouth was curled just right at the corners to cause her to lose her senses.

"We're not naming our baby Elmo," she murmured, not even realizing what she was saying.

He smiled against her lips, before stealing a kiss.

Remembering herself and how crafty the Cajun was, she pushed him off her and away with small, but strong hands. "Alright, back off, you swamp giant."

"You just say that because you're small enough to be a wood sprite."

"How dare you! My height is perfectly acceptable for a woman!"

"Five-three is perfectly acceptable for a legal dwarf, _beb_."

"You miserable cur." She stated. "I'm five-four and a half."

"That half an inch makes all the difference," he teased.

She pointedly looked down at the front of his pants. "Yes, so I've heard."

Drawing her into his arms, despite her half-hearted attempts to avoid being mauled by the so-called swamp giant, Grace felt Lafayette beam into her hair, pressing kisses everywhere he could. "It's remarks like that that remind me why I love you so much, honeychild."

Before Grace could say anything further, Annie was there, pushing between them, holding the heavy duty, military issue gloves up to the Lieutenant.

"I found them!" She sing-songed.

"That's my girl," the Lieutenant said, taking his gloves from her. "Now go and fetch me a beignet and a hot cup of coffee."

"Fate," Grace scolded.

The soldier beamed widely at them both, and pressing a hand to his tender ribs, stooped over to kiss Annie quickly on the top of her head and pulling Grace in for a deep kiss on his way back up.

"Be good, my girls."

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****Annie****

Being scooped up by Mr. Tyreese, Annie could see the vehicle driving off forever until it reached the end of the road.

In his arms, Annie sighed and poked at a pattern on his shirt, Boo dancing and twirling at his feet.

"They'll be okay, kid," Mr. Tyreese assured her.

Looking behind him to where Mother Mena and Mr. Rick had gathered to watch the departure as well, Annie smiled at them both, especially Mr. Rick, who was fast becoming one of her favourites at the convent.

"Think they'll bring that Mr. Soldier back?"

Tyreese set her down and she looked up at him, shielding her eyes from the rising sun.

"I don't know."

Shrugging, she skipped over to grip Mother Mena's hand, looking up at her. "Can I go play on my swing?"

"Of course, sweetheart, I'll be in the garden if you need me."

Annie nodded, scooping up Boo the dog and waddling off with her in her arms. She stopped short halfway there when she spied that boy who threw dirt at her, sitting under the walnut tree.

Setting Boo down, Annie scowled and marched over.

"You can't be here!" She stated.

He ignored her, reading a book.

"You dummy," Annie growled. "I said you can't be here, this is my tree and my swing and you're a—" she broke off shouting at him when she caught sight of Mr. Dixon standing on the sunny side of the church with Sister Mary Agnes.

He'd save her swing from that boy.

Annie stormed over, heading for the big man.

"Mr. Dixon!" She shouted. "Mr. Dixon, Mr. Dixon!"

The man wasn't paying attention, he was too busy talking to Sister Mary Agnes, so Annie grabbed hold of his good hand and tugged. "Mr. Dixon!"

"Jesus, fuck, what?" He snapped.

Annie, immune to his grumpy tone, released his hand and stuck her hands on her hips. "That boy is sitting under my tree and he's reading and I don't like him!"

"So?" Mr. Dixon demanded.

"Pick him up and throw him over the wall," Annie stated. She assumed when Mother Mena cautioned her about bad things happening to people over the wall, that that was where bad people went.

Mr. Dixon looked over at Sister Mary Agnes with a scowl and Sister Mary Agnes knelt down to bring herself eye to eye with Annie. "Have you tried making friends with him, sweetie? He's probably lonely."

"He's not lonely, he's a jerk!" Annie objected.

"Hey, snotface," Mr. Dixon snapped. "Go deal with him yourself, you're old e-fucking-nough to handle these things on your own."

"I'm not," Annie argued. "And I won't make friends with him! I'd rather cut off my hair and climb into a wooden box with snakes."

"Holy fuck, cut the goddamned dramatics," Mr. Dixon shouted. "I'll go see what the deal is with that kid. Fucking little shit-midget…"

"I love you, Mr. Dixon!" Annie declared happily, gripping Sister Mary Agnes' hand and watching as Mr. Dixon ambled his way towards the walnut tree.

"You really adore him, don't you, sweetheart?" Sister Mary Agnes asked.

Annie nodded. "When nobody is looking he lets me crawl into his lap and he tells me about the time he crushed a man's eyesocket and other things."

The lady chuckled.

The one thing about Sister Mary Agnes that Annie always liked was that the lady never seemed to mind some of the stuff Mother Mena would.

"Mr. Dixon is the strongest man in the world! He can do push ups with one arm and also he can lift me up when I'm carrying Boo! I bet he could punch someone so hard his head would fall off!" She kind of hoped he would do it to that boy under the tree.

"He's nice to you, isn't he?"

"Um-hm." She frowned when Mr. Dixon came back to her without having punched the kid's head off.

"Alright, squirt, he says he ain't going to bother you, so just go and swing."

"But he will, he does!" She growled.

"Tough nipples, get moving!" He barked back.

Annie jumped and hurried off, knowing that tone meant trouble.

******************************____********************..-~-..**

* * *

**The Cajun Dialect**

**Allons** - Let's go!

**Bioque** - Idiot

******************************____********************..-~-..**

* * *

**DarylDixon'sLover** - Thanks!

**shelly2** - Okay so it wasn't a Merle chapter, but I'm working on it, I'm working on it...I swear!

**Brazen Hussy** - I promise, Merle is working up to a little some'n, some'n.

**Merle's Right Hand** - Jesus, fuck, who on earth do you know who enjoys classic cars? I would dry hump the hell out of them and call the ne...oh, it was me, wasn't it? You were alluding to me.

**Girl in the White Dress** - Damn, now I'm craving honey basted cat.


End file.
